FEAR
by Michelle Knight 1188
Summary: Sam and Dean get sucked into a government experiment gone awry when Sam is targeted by a telekinetic child bent on destroying all those who have wronged her. Violence, revenge, and 40,000 plague victims wrapped up in a psychic's nightmare.
1. Target Acquired

**This story is set somewhere in Season 3. Expect it to contain lots of terror, the Sedlec Ossuary (decorated with human bones of plague victims, look it up), and loose references to F.E.A.R., because the possibilities of what would happen to Sam and Dean in a similar situation are just too good to pass up. **

"I think the waitress poisoned me, Sam." Dean moaned, his voice crackling through the speaker.

Sam laughed and turned the wheel sharply to maneuver the Impala onto the main street, careful not to dislodge the phone that was propped between his ear and his shoulder. "Aw come on, man," he teased. "The waitresses always adore you."

"Laugh it up now, but in a few hours I'm likely to be decaying on the floor."

Sam grinned and grunted noncommittally into the phone.

"Stop that." Dean said sharply.

"Stop what?"

"Smiling. This isn't funny."

"I'm not smiling."

"You are. I can tell."

Sam spotted the house he was looking for and pulled into the paved driveway. The house loomed with gleaming windows and expertly pruned rose bushes. A tire swing drifted softly in the wind. "Look, I'm sorry you got food poisoning."

"No you're not."

"In my defense," Sam continued, turning the ignition off and stepping out of the car, "I did tell you that the pie smelled weird."

"Hey, it tasted fine!" Dean protested.

"Uh-uh," Sam said, slipping the keys into his pocket and walking briskly up the sidewalk to the porch. "I've gotta go, Dean. I'll call you after I figure out some details about the ghost. Until then…try to air out the room before I get back."

"I'm going to puke all over your bed."

Sam smiled and flipped his phone shut as he reached out to ring the doorbell.

The door was wrenched open before he could touch it, and he pulled his hand back. "Hello…Mrs. Wade?" he looked at her and felt his eyebrows pull together in concern. Her eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by black circles of smudged eyeliner, and her black hair frizzled back from her forehead in a static halo.

"You're Sam," She said urgently, her eyes locked on his face.

"Yes. Uh…we talked over the phone. Bobby said you're an old friend and that you have a ghost—"

"Come in," She hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him over the threshold. She slammed the door behind them and dragged him into the foyer. "Sit down." She said, all but shoving him onto an old wooden chair in the corner before dashing over to a bookcase.

Sam gripped the handles of the chair and half raised himself out of it.

"I said sit down!" Mrs. Wade shrieked at him.

Sam sunk down into the seat hurriedly. "Sorry, sorry. What are you…"

"You're early." She shot back, engrossed in pulling books off the shelves and tossing them dismissively onto the hardwood floor. "I haven't found it yet."

"Found what?" Sam said slowly. His hand tensed around the phone in his pocket.

"Found what? Found _what_?" she shouted, throwing a book at him. "Oh, nothing. Nothing important. Just the thing that's going to save your life!" She turned back to the shelves and continued throwing books aside. "It's not here. Not. Here. Where is it?"

Sam sat in the chair, eyes wide, the book she had hurled at him clutched tightly in his hands. He looked at the cover and saw that it was titled _History of Telekinetic Occurrences_. "Okay, just calm down," he said, putting the book gently on the floor, "If this is about the ghost you don't have to worry, Dean and I are very good at getting rid of angry spirits."

She laughed. "There's no damn ghost." She said, "We don't have a ghost. I would love to have a ghost. It would make things so much simpler to just have a ghost."

Sam moved to get up. "But you said—"

"Sit down!" she roared, hurling another book at him.

Sam dodged the book and planted himself firmly in the chair. "Right. Look, I am sitting, okay? Stop throwing things at me and let me help you."

"No no no no no." She said, and then she moved toward him and put her hands on each arm rest of his chair so that she was looming over him. "No. No, you have it backwards. Completely askew. Flip-floppy-flopped."

Sam leaned back in the chair. Her breath smelled like moldy cheese, she was probably insane, and he needed to bring this meeting to a close. "Is there a ghost, Mrs. Wade?"

"No," she said, and leaned closer to whisper in his ear, "Just my daughter." She released the arms of the chair and rushed over to a set of drawers and started pulling trinkets out. They shattered on the floor.

Sam stayed in the chair. "Can I leave now?"

"Hmmm…well, do you want to die?"

"Uh…no."

"Then no, you can't leave."

Sam looked around, trying to spot a weapon on her. He couldn't see anything, and she wasn't even looking at him. "Are you planning on killing me?"

She hurled a glass candle into the wall above his head. "Me?" she laughed, "Oh calm down, I didn't hit you with that. Sit. _I said sit_. Now you listen here, boy. I'm helping you. Cause she's targeted you, you see. She wants you. And once she sees something she wants, she damn well gets it every damn time."

Sam kept his head down, feeling the glass shards catch in the folds of his shirt. "Who's targeting me?"

"My daughter."

"Is she dead?"

"No one knows."

"You haven't found her body?"

"Oh no no, we know where she _is_, we just don't know if she's _dead_. She should be. We thought we killed her, but she can't be dead because she keeps killing people, but no one's suicidal enough to want to check on her. So no one really knows."

"You thought you killed her?" Sam repeated weakly, trying to get some grasp of the situation.

"They should have killed her sooner. But nooooooo, they thought they could contain her. They thought they could lock her up and control her. Stupid bastards."

"Can I call my brother?" Sam said in a rush.

"Go ahead. Just don't get up. I don't want to have to worry about where you are."

Sam got out his phone and dialed, watching her throw objects across the room in her search.

"That was quick." Dean mumbled into the phone.

"Um…" Sam said, ducking as a ceramic plate hit the wall above his head. "The situation has escalated a bit."

"What?" Dean asked, sounding more awake. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, there's no ghost."

There was a pause. "Bobby said there was a ghost. He said he knew this woman."

"Yeah…" Sam said, "I'm starting to doubt the truth of that."

"What's that sound?"

"Mrs. Wade is throwing…everything. She's trying to find something."

"What?"

"She won't say. But she said that the thing she's looking for is supposed to save my life and that I shouldn't leave unless I want to die because her daughter, who should be dead but might not be, has targeted me."

There was a longer pause as Dean tried to work that out. "…what?"

"I don't know."

"No, really, what does that mean?"

"I don't know."

"Well find out!"

The lights flickered. Mrs. Wade froze.

"Sam?" Dean said worriedly.

Sam stood up. The lights flickered again, pulsing. The air shimmered.

"Sam?" Dean said again.

"Just a little electrical problem." Sam said calmly, looking around for a ghost or a dead girl or a not dead girl and seeing nothing.

"I'm coming over." Dean said, and Sam heard the sounds of him getting his equipment together. "Just…go outside or something. Wait until I get there." Sam got up from the chair, and Mrs. Wade slowly swiveled her head to look at him.

The lights went out completely.

Sam froze in the blackness, blinking furiously to get his eyes used to the dark. He swept his hand back to find some type of weapon but came up empty. He realized that Dean was shouting at him. "What?" he muttered.

"What the hell happened?" Dean snapped.

"Power went out," he said, "Can't see a thing. I don't get it, there were windows..." he trailed off at the sound of heavy breathing.

The lights flickered, and Mrs. Wade was standing three feet away from him, blood pouring from her eyes.

The lights went out.

Sam leaped backward, slamming into something solid. He hurriedly made his way across the wall. Dean was yelling something in his ear, but the sound seemed strangely muted.

The lights flashed again, and Mrs. Wade was hanging upside down in front of him on the ceiling, her mouth inches from his, gaping open and pouring blood onto the floor.

The lights went out.

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	2. Hospital

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! :) Here's the next part, enjoy.**

Sam swore and dropped his phone. He changed direction, trying to remember where the hell the door had been.

He ran into something soft instead and wiry arms held him fast, fingernails digging into his throat. As his air supply was severed he felt blood drip onto his forehead and tasted salty copper in his mouth. He fought back but his arms felt like toothpicks trying to pierce steel.

The world flickered and spun. Yellow dots gathered together to threaten to overtake the blackness.

All at once she extracted her fingernails from his flesh with a sucking sound. Like a doll, he fell forward, meeting no resistance until he landed with a splash in a watery suspension. He sank slowly, the liquid choking him as the darkness pounded—

"Sam."

He thrust his hands out frantically, trying to swim up. The water weighed him down, forcing him deeper and deeper toward the bottom.

"Sam. Wake up. I'm right here."

His outstretched hand smacked against something solid, and he ran his arms down the smooth surface. Glass. He pounded his fists on the glass, trying to get out—

"Come on, man. Don't make me beg."

He felt a hand lightly touch his arm. Startled, he tried to pull back but found himself unable to move. The hand gripped his arm tightly.

"Sammy, please. You have to wake up. It's not real, okay? Whatever it is, it's not real."

"His vitals are falling again. I can't see a cause, he should be fine."

The grip tightened further on his arm, almost painfully. "Don't do this to me Sammy. Don't you dare."

_Dean._ Sam tried to say it but his mouth wouldn't move. His eyes wouldn't open.

Something soft brushed against his leg, distracting him. Hair?

Dean's voice said something else, but it was disjointed and muted. Sam felt the hair brush against his leg again, and he tried to look down through the darkness to see what it was—

Two little hands clenched around his ankle and pulled down, hard, wrenching his arm from Dean's grip.

"Shit, we're losing him. Someone get a crash cart!"

**SNSNSN**

"_Dean_!" Sam vaulted into a sitting position, gasping for air. His throat was on fire. He coughed, trying to calm his breathing while his eyes darted around. He was in a hospital. No Dean.

The coughing wouldn't stop, and he put a hand to his throat to find a thick bandage wrapped around it. He tried to slow his breathing down as he reached out to press the call button. He waited. No one came.

The lights flickered.

Sam swore and pulled the IV out of his arm. He swung his legs to the side in order to get off the bed, but his vision spun and blurred. He hit the floor hard.

Lifting his head, he peered up wearily. "Dean?" he said, without much hope. "Anyone?" He turned his face toward the door and froze.

A thick coating of blood was smeared across the tiles on the floor. The smear ended in a splatter across the front of the door and dripped from the ceiling. Sam pushed himself up into a crouch, eyes darting around.

"Dean?"

The lights flickered again.

Sam spotted a phone on the far wall and staggered over to it. There was no dial tone. He slammed it back into the receiver, thinking furiously. Dean must have found him at the house and brought him here. There was no way he would have left him alone and injured if a fight had gone down, so that meant his brother was injured or unconscious.

Or worse.

_No_. Sam used the wall to steady himself and looked around for a weapon. Dean was fine. He was always fine. He just had to get out of here and find him.

Sam picked up a scalpel from the tray he had knocked over when he fell. He crept to the door and looked out. There was a skeleton sprawled on the ground, flesh melted off its bones.

Sam cringed. _It isn't Dean, it isn't Dean, it isn't Dean_—

The lights dimmed again. Sam turned to look further down the hall and a figure flashed in front of him, long black hair and red eyes. It flickered out and the lights came back on. Sam jolted backward, clenching the scalpel tightly. He turned around and hurried in the opposite direction of the girl, trying to hold his breath so he wouldn't gag at the smell of charred flesh. His vision was still threatening to black out again, and the piles of melted bodies strewn about the hall and splashed up on the walls were not helping.

He limped over to a window and looked outside. Cars drove past, and people strolled down the sidewalks talking. As he looked he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass and remembered the bandage around his throat. He pulled at the cloth, tugging gently at it until it was off. There were ten deep puncture wounds, all festering with yellow and red pus.

Sam dropped the gauze and turned away from the window. The girl flickered again, further down the hall. She was staring at him.

Sam took off running. All he had to do was make it out of the building. That was it. If he got out he could get help and find Dean and they could figure out what the hell was going on.

He rounded the corner and his feet lost traction on the bloody floor. He slid into a wall, and a picture frame shattered to the ground beside him.

Someone screamed, high pitched and desperate.

Sam's head shot up and he forced himself to his feet and ran toward the sound. It built to a crescendo and then turned into a horrible gasping sound just as Sam saw what was happening and skidded to a stop. The girl was standing in front of a nurse, hands outstretched. The nurse was melting even as she tried to scream.

There was movement on the other side of the hall, and Sam focused on it.

Dean.

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	3. From Bad to Worse

**Hey everyone! Here is the next installment. **

He met his brother's gaze for a brief moment before the girl's head snapped to look at him. Sam stepped back, trying to figure out how he was going to survive being melted and coming up woefully short on ideas. The girl flickered and moved toward him, her eyes boring up into his.

Dean shouted something.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and felt something icy pass though him.

Dean finally managed to reach him and grabbed his shoulders, desperate. "Sam? Look at me. What did she do to you?"

Sam opened his eyes. Dean was freaked, looking as though he expected Sam to turn into a puddle at any moment. Sam shook his head, looking all around.

"Sam!"

He focused his gaze on his worried brother, equally confused to be alive. "Nothing. She…nothing. I'm fine."

Dean exhaled slowly, tightening his grip on his shoulders. "Damn it, Sam. I thought you were dead."

"Me too." Sam said slowly. His vision blurred again and he reached up to grab his head in an effort to still the vertigo.

"Sit down." Dean said.

"What if she comes back?"

"Sit down before you fall down." Dean said harshly.

Sam allowed his brother to help lower him to the floor, thankful that it was a bloodless patch. "What was that?" he asked weakly.

Dean slid down the wall beside him and rubbed a hand across his face. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it before." He turned his attention to Sam and frowned. "That's not good."

Sam dutifully let his brother check the wounds on his throat. "They're infected," He said.

Dean frowned. "We're going to need to clean these," he said. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I've been running." Sam replied, managing a small smile.

"And you look like shit."

"Still look better than you," Sam said, grabbing Dean's hand and allowing him to haul him to his feet. The world whirled but stilled again. "I'm good."

"Right," Dean said, not buying it. He helped Sam over to one of the rooms and started rummaging through the hydrogen peroxide and cotton balls.

Sam slumped down on a green metal chair facing the closed door. "Is everyone else dead?"

Dean's mouth tightened. "I think so," he turned toward Sam and knelt down beside him, holding the supplies. "Ready?"

Sam gripped the arms of the chair tightly and closed his eyes. "Yeah."

The first swab of alcohol was gentle, but the wound was deep and still hurt like hell. Sam gritted his teeth.

"Sorry."

"Just get it over with."

Dean pushed harder, digging the alcohol coated cotton into all ten wounds to try to clean out the infection. Sam was sure he was burrowing his own fingernail holes into the armrests, but he kept his teeth clenched, careful not to make a sound.

"All done," Dean said tensely after what seemed like hours. "Just have to wrap another gauze strip around your throat and it's all done."

Sam opened his eyes and breathed out slowly.

Dean turned back toward him with the gauze and began gently bandaging the wounds. "What did this, Sammy?" he asked quietly.

Sam shrugged. "As far as I can tell? Mrs. Wade. She tried to suffocate me, dug her fingernails in as deep as she could."

Dean kept his voice calm, pinning the gauze in place. "Human fingernails wouldn't cause this infection, Sam. Not in less than a day."

"I know."

"Is she human?"

"I think so. I mean, she seemed a bit eccentric but as soon as the lights started seizing all this blood started dripping from her eyes and _ouch!_" Sam glared up at his brother.

"Hold still and I won't bump it," Dean reprimanded slowly. "So she was crazy but normal."

"Up until she started coughing up blood and hanging from the ceiling."

"So possession?"

Sam hesitated, lifting a hand to smooth down the gauze on his neck. "I'm not sure, it doesn't add up. I mean, why not kill me? I was out, you weren't there."

Dean frowned. "Yeah."

"That's not the point," Sam said, leaning back in his chair. "You were sick, it was a routine daylight look at the situation. There was nothing that pointed to this happening. Anyway, she could have finished me off easily."

"Yeah. And she left you there." His brother shook his head and wheeled a stool from the corner over to Sam. He sat down, examining Sam intently. "She must have done something to you. Something we can't see."

"That's what I'm worried about."

The lights went out.

Sam sat up straight, tense.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

Sam looked incredulously in the direction of his brother's voice. "Lights are out," he said, "She must be close."

He felt Dean lean closer to him, and felt a breeze as something was waved in front of his face. "What?" he said, irritated.

"Sam…" Dean said slowly, "The lights are still on."

Sam blinked hard. "No they aren't, I can't…" he trailed off. "Really?"

"Shit." Dean said, and Sam recognized Dean's attempt to control his rising panic. He felt his brother's hand on his chest, pushing him back into the chair. "You can't see anything at all?"

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "No."

**Uh-oh, seems Sammy's in trouble. Reviews are like fluffy kittens, I can't get enough of them. :)**


	4. Breathing Is Optional

"_Sam…" Dean said slowly, "The lights are still on." _

_Sam blinked hard. "No they aren't, I can't…" he trailed off. "Really?"_

"_Shit." Dean said, and Sam recognized Dean's attempt to control his rising panic. He felt his brother's hand on his chest, pushing him back into the chair. "You can't see anything at all?"_

_Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "No."_

Dean exhaled slowly. "Okay. Okay, no problem. We can fix this."

Sam looked skeptically in the direction of Dean's voice, trying to squelch his rising panic. "How? We don't even know what we're dealing with."

"Hey, we'll figure it out," Dean said, without removing his hand from his brother's shirt. "You sure you can't see _anything_? I mean, can you make out any light?"

"Nothing."

"All right," Dean said tensely, "We've had worse before, right? We just have to…..away from here…findtha…..andfigu…enthe…a…"

Sam heard his brother's voice continue, but it seemed distorted and far away. He couldn't make out any words. "Dean…" he said, reaching for him. His hand caught nothing but air, and the light flashed.

He was standing in a field. Blinking, he turned sharply in a circle, throwing his hands out. The grass below his feet was solid, and he felt sunlight warm his face.

"Dean?" he said hesitantly, straining to hear something.

Someone was humming.

He turned again. An ancient tree loomed in the middle of the field, casting twisted shadows along the grass in front of him. A wooden swing hung from a dead limb, and a little girl swung forward and backward. The ropes whispered with the motion, straining ominously. Her black hair hung down heavily across her back and lifted with the breeze.

Sam stared at the child, unable to look away. He stepped forward, slowly at first, and then broke into a run. The tree seemed a million miles away, he wasn't going to reach her—

"Sam!"

Sam jerked awake with a gasp and bolted up, pushing something over with a crash. He opened his eyes. His brother was lying a few feet away where he had thrown him into the desk. Dean growled and crawled back over to him, face distorted with undisguised concern. "Stop moving," Dean said, stopping beside him and looking him over.

"Wha…" Sam croaked, but coughed instead when he found his throat was dry. "What happened?"

"You stopped breathing," Dean said tensely, not meeting Sam's gaze. "You just said my name and _fell_ and then you stopped breathing. You've been out for a couple minutes."

"Minutes?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

Dean's mouth firmed into a line and he continued his search for a new wound on his brother, anything that would have caused this.

"Dean."

Dean ignored him.

"Dean." Sam reached out and grabbed onto his wrist, stopping his search. "Stop. I'm okay."

Dean looked as though he was about to say something but swallowed hard instead and sat down beside Sam so that their shoulders were faintly touching. He noticed Sam's gaze on him. "You can see."

"Yeah," Sam said, "At least something's going right."

Dean groaned, not in the mood to pretend. "What happened?" he asked.

"I just asked you that."

"No, I mean what happened from your end," Dean snapped, his hand clenched tightly at his side. "After your little swan dive."

Sam breathed in deeply, trying to soothe his throat. "Well…there was this tree."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "A…tree?"

"Yeah. This dead oak tree in the middle of a field, and this girl was swinging…and I tried to get to her."

Dean closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Would this be the same girl that's been melting the nursing staff?"

"I think so."

"And you tried to get to her?"

"Ran, actually," Sam said, "It was a big field."

"Not your best idea, Sammy," Dean said, giving him a small smile. Sam recognized that smile. It wasn't a good smile.

"Yeah, I couldn't…couldn't stop," he paused and leaned his head back against the wall. "It's not just a dream, is it?"

"Never is," Dean said tiredly, "Vision?"

"My visions usually leave me breathing," Sam said.

"I'm starting to like them a lot more."

"Me too."

The lights flashed.

Sam looked at Dean questioningly.

"Yeah, they flickered." He said darkly, scanning the room.

"Oh good. That's comforting," Sam said, "We need to get out of here. Now."

"Can you walk?"

Sam smiled in an attempt to reassure him, "Again, I've been running."

"Smart ass," Dean shot back, helping Sam to his feet, "Running in dream like places does not count as running."

"Says who?" Sam asked, peering out into the hall as Dean put more hydrogen peroxide and gauze into his pockets and got out his pistol. "Coast seems to be clear."

"Seems to be," Dean repeated darkly, opening the door a crack and waiting for something horrible to swoop down. Nothing happened. "Okay Sam, it's time to get the hell out of dodge. Stay close, holler if you see a freaky dead chick…and for god's sake try to keep breathing."

**Please Review! Thanks.**


	5. Free Pizza

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Just a heads up, I've twisted elements of the storyline of F.E.A.R. (if you're familiar with it) to fit the plotline of this story. So if you love the game and some facts deviate from it, know that I did it on purpose. Enjoy. **

They crept through the halls silently, expecting to be melted at every corner. The little girl was nowhere to be seen, but Sam could _feel _her all around. Despair. Anger. Loneliness. A potent fog of depression hovered in the hallways around the flashing lights, dark corners and sticky pools of blood. She was there. She was watching them.

And there was no way they were getting out unless she let them leave.

Sam swallowed hard, wincing at the burning pain in his throat as they reached the main entrance. Dean glanced at him as he reached out and pushed on the handle.

Nothing happened.

"Locked," he said frowning. He looked at Sam. "Any idea where we could get the key?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at a huge stone vase. "Break a window."

Dean smirked and picked up the pot, testing its weight in his hands. "You're not very subtle today, Sam."

"She's _everywhere_, Dean. Everywhere. You don't…feel her like I do," he said, shivering as another wave of hopelessness slammed against him like a wall. "We need to get out."

"Sensing her with the Shining, huh?" Dean said lightly.

Sam frowned.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Dean said. He walked over to the closest window and threw the stone vase as hard as he could. The vase pinged off the window and clattered to the floor, spinning a few times before coming to a rest in the middle of the floor. "This place doesn't have new steel glass, does it?" He muttered, trying again. The window didn't even crack.

Sam shook his head. "She's not letting us leave," he said, looking wearily around the entrance room.

"Well, she's not keeping us here," Dean said, watching Sam's eyes roam, "We'll just have to find her weak link. Maybe her body's in the hospital? Trapping her spirit here and all that?"

"I don't know," Sam said, "Mrs. Wade said she knew where her daughter's body was but she went all exorcist on me before I could ask."

"Where's the kid's father?"

"Bobby didn't mention a father…and I don't think he set this up either."

"Then who did?"

"_Hey! Hello? Is this thing on?"_

Sam trailed off at the sound of the voice. He looked at Dean, who had automatically raised his gun and was peering through the room.

"_You there…in the waiting room. Can you hear me?"_

The voice was coming from behind the front desk. Dean motioned for Sam to go left as he went right. They crept up to the desk, but when they reached it and looked behind…no one was there.

"_On top of the desk, idiots. There's a radio."_

Sam glanced down at the mess of files and blood covering the desk and spotted a radio pinned underneath a dead nurse's hand. He gingerly slid her arm off the radio and let it fall, where it gently swayed back and forth above the floor.

"Who is this?" Dean demanded, looking around as though he expected an ambush to rush through the doors.

"_You can call me…Snake Fist."_

Sam watched Dean's expression go from guarded to surprised to completely annoyed in less than three seconds. "Snake Fist?" he said flatly.

"_Hey, this isn't a secure channel; I don't have any way of knowing what assholes might be listening."_

"Look man," Dean continued, speaking slowly, "Everyone in the hospital is dead. We need to get out."

"_I know you do. I've been watching you on the security cameras. You're both in some pretty thick shit."_

Sam looked skeptically at Dean and leaned toward the radio. "So you're inside the hospital?"

"_Are you kidding? I wouldn't be caught dead inside that hospital right now, not with her melting everyone and hunting you down."_

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and moved him out of the way. "Okay, smart guy. What's going on?"

"_You two are screwed, that's what."_

Sam spoke up before Dean could start yelling. "Who's the girl?" he demanded, "You know, the one who's been killing everyone?"

"_Her name is Alma Wade. I don't have time to tell you much right now, but she's got a telekinetic signature that's off the charts and she wants you, Sam."_

Dean swatted Sam's hand away from the speaker and leaned down angrily. "Hang on, how the hell do you know his name? And what does this chick want with Sam?"

"_Look, I told you there's not much time. Alma's really close to you right now and Sam's not going to be able to resist her for much longer."_

"Resist her?" Sam asked, "What do you mean?"

"_Oh hell. Listen kid, right now you're like…you're like a free pizza at an Anime convention. She can smell you. She wants to consume you."_

"Why?" Dean growled.

"_Because of his telekinetic signature. It's high, and she's drawn to it."_

"How do you know about that?" Sam demanded angrily.

"_Ever heard of Project Origin?"_

Sam looked at Dean, who shook his head. "No."

"_I thought not. Look, it's a top secret government project, and everything has to do with that. I'll explain everything to you later, but right now you have to haul ass. Get to the Children's Ward as fast as you can. There's another radio in there, and when you're there I'll tell you what to do to get the hell out of there."_

"How do we know we can trust you?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"_You don't really have any other options right now, do you? And Sam…you're probably already experiencing some side effects of Alma's close proximity to you. Headaches, hallucinations, that kind of thing. You have to resist her."_

Sam frowned. "Okay."

"_Get to the Children's Ward. I'll talk to you there. Snake Fist out."_

The radio started projecting static. Dean reached over and flipped it off. He looked at Sam. There was a long pause as they both tried to digest the information.

Dean finally shook his head. "Snake Fist?" he said, exasperated. "I mean…really? _Snake Fist_? What the hell?"

Sam laughed.

**Thanks for reading. Reviews are like free pizza! **


	6. Ten Minutes

"Snake Fist," Dean muttered under his breath, treading slowly through the halls of the hospital. "I mean…really? Of all the idiots in the world, we get stuck this dude." He paused and looked back at Sam. "You still okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam said.

"Right," Dean said as he walked forward through automatic sliding doors into another ward. "And what kind of idiot willingly calls himself Snake Fist anyway? I mean…the guy is obviously overcompensating for something."

"Must be a movie reference."

Dean shot his brother an annoyed look. "I would know if it was a movie reference, Sam. I am the king of movie references."

Sam grinned, peering around another corner and motioning that it was safe. "Maybe you're slipping in your old age."

"You better stop while you're ahead," Dean growled, stopping in front of a hospital directory.

"I'm ahead?" Sam said innocently, perusing the names until he spotted the label for the Children's Ward. "It's three floors up, left corner. We should see if the elevator still works."

"I see it," Dean said, "And you're not ahead. I will always be ahead because—"

"You're older," Sam finished, "That's not going to work forever, you know."

"Course it will. I don't see you catching up any time soon."

"You're just—" Sam turned the corner.

He dropped like a stone, barely registering Dean's desperate grab onto his arm.

Silence.

He woke up to the sound of running water. His head throbbed against a cool padded cushion that smelled of cheap plastic and lemon cleaner.

Footsteps treaded over beside him, and he winced at how the vibrations bounced around in his skull. The sound _hurt. _He held his breath for a brief moment, unsure of what might be standing beside him.

Something soft and wet touched his neck, and Sam reeled backwards at the stabbing pain that followed. He reached up, disoriented, desperate to swat it away.

"Just me," Dean said softly, easily catching his arm before it could strike him, "Lay still."

Sam groaned and lowered his arm back to the cushion. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second time, feeling his brother try to clean out the wounds in his neck. It burned, but he pushed the pain away to talk. "I walked around that corner and she was waiting."

Dean didn't say anything. Sam turned to look at him, noting the relief in his pale expression as he met his gaze. "How long did I stop breathing?" he asked, instantly recognizing what had upset his brother.

Dean looked away. He put more hydrogen peroxide on the cotton swab and dabbed in on his wounds again.

Sam grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "How long, Dean?" he protested.

"Ten minutes," Dean said finally, prying Sam's fingers off his arm. He carried on cleaning his wound with slow, even strokes, "You started breathing again five minutes ago, and I figured I'd clean your wounds while you were out of it."

"Ten minutes?" Sam stared at him with wide eyes. "I should be dead...or brain damaged."

Dean's expression didn't change. "Your wounds are seeping again," he said, "I don't know why they're infected like this."

Sam swatted his brother's hand away and tried to sit up. His vision blurred but he managed to blink it back. "Dean, I just died. I don't really care about punctures on my neck! What happened?"

"I don't know."

"Well something must have happened. I don't…I don't even remember anything. No tree, no girl…nothing. What _happened_, Dean?"

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted furiously. "I don't know! Okay? I. Don't. Know."

Sam blinked, startled. For a moment he thought Dean might hit him, but he turned at the last second and threw the bottle of hydrogen peroxide against the wall instead. The bottle exploded, splashing liquid everywhere.

"Damn it." He turned and paced over to the door, and then turned back to Sam, arms spread wide, "I _don't know _what happened. You were talking to me and then you just collapsed and stopped breathing. I couldn't…I couldn't _do anything._ I tried using the defibrillator in here but it didn't work. Nothing worked. You were just _dead_."

"And then I just started breathing again?"

"Yeah," Dean said, sinking back down on the hospital bed.

Sam sat in silence, watching the second hand on the dead clock on the wall twitch between the six and seven.

"I hate this, Sammy," Dean said finally, "We need to figure out what's going on _now_. I mean…the first time you were out for a few minutes, now ten. What about next time, huh? Am I gonna have to wait around for half an hour? Forty-five minutes? For you to _maybe _wake up? The hell with this."

"Maybe it won't happen again."

Dean laughed bitterly and turned away.

"Listen, Dean. We'll figure this out like always," Sam said, "Promise." He clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, tightening his grip for a moment before wincing and letting his hand wander to his own neck. His throat was still seeping, and if the pain was any gauge the infection was getting worse.

"Don't touch it," Dean snapped, pushing Sam's hand away from the wound. He stood up and got another bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the counter.

Sam clenched his teeth as his brother continued cleaning his wounds. "Did you see her?" he asked, "Before I fell."

"No." Dean said flatly, "I didn't see her. I would have shot the shit out of her if I had."

"I don't think you can shoot the shit out of ghosts," Sam replied, smiling.

"Thought you said she might not be dead."

"True. Guess shooting her would settle that dispute."

"Exactly," Dean said, and fell quiet for a few minutes as he worked.

"The infection's really bad, isn't it?" Sam asked finally as Dean started to wrap another gauze strip around it.

"Nah, you'll be fine," Dean said, with the inflection that told Sam he was lying and that he knew Sam knew he was lying and that he'd be grateful if Sam just pretended not to know he was lying and didn't talk about it anymore because there was really nothing more they could do about it right now anyway.

"Okay," Sam said.

Dean washed the blood and pus off his hands in the sink, trying not to notice the ugly swirl of color going down the drain. He swiped some pills off the counter where he had stashed them a few minutes ago and turned back to Sam. "You need something for the pain."

"No."

"Wasn't a question, Sam." Dean said, shaking the bottle at him. "We're stuck in the hospital with some demon kid, the least we can do is take advantage of the free samples."

Sam shook his head.

"Sam." Dean said, "Just...please. For me, if nothing else."

Sam gritted his teeth together. "Fine."

"How bad's the pain? And don't bother lying."

Sam paused. "Four."

"Ten?"

"Five."

"Seven?"

"What scale are we doing here?" Sam asked.

"Doesn't matter," Dean poured three pills into his hand. "Here."

Sam took the pills and swallowed them dry. "So," he said grinning, "What did I just take?"

"Oh, I just grabbed a random bottle. If you start seizing I'll know it was a bad choice."

"Ha," Sam muttered, easing himself down off the bed and nodding at Dean when the room stayed level. The girl wasn't around, the lights were on, and he didn't feel like he was dying. Yet. So far so good.

"We need to keep moving," Dean said, "Try to warn me if you see her again, okay?"

Sam nodded, and they made their way slowly through the dark hallway toward the elevators. The main lights were off now, and the emergency lights buzzed and flickered as though something was working at turning them off. Sam tried not to notice. He realized that Dean was talking to him and turned. "What?"

Dean looked at him apprehensively. "I said elevator or stairs?"

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	7. Aborted Kidnapping

**Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews so far, I really appreciate the feedback. **

"Stairs," Sam said instantly, "The power's gone haywire, we don't need to be trapped with her in a stalled elevator."

"Three flights." Dean said flatly.

Sam glared at him. "I can handle three flights of stairs."

"You look like you're going to fall over and you can't focus on anything for more than a few minutes."

"I'm fine," Sam said. "She might be back at any moment. Let's just go."

For a moment Dean looked as though he might argue, but then he waved Sam into the stairwell. "You first, princess."

"In case I see her?"

"No," Dean said, "In case you have another fainting spell."

Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder as he walked by and started upward. Climbing the stairs was hard. He tried to set a steady pace, but it was more difficult than it should have been to keep moving one foot in front of the other. About three quarters of the way up it felt like there was a rock lodged in his lungs, and he could feel something wet trickling through the layers of gauze on his neck. The infection was getting worse, and he was going to try his hardest to hide that from Dean, at least until there was medical help available.

Dean came up beside him and put an arm behind his shoulders, giving him support. "Almost there."

Sam nodded, leaning on his brother. They made it to the top and into the hallway.

The paint evaporated off the walls in a puff of smoke. Walls dropped away, Dean disappeared. Grass sprouted and unfurled from the dirt. There was a loud _crack_ and a black branch emerged from the ground, and the dead tree slowly wound its way from underneath. Two long coils of rope were attached to the one limb, and they were rocking slightly as the tree rose from the ground. Sam found himself unable to look away, and a tangled mass of black hair rose up with a sucking sound, pulled by the tree and caked with dirt. Then her eyes, red gimlets staring right at him, and her hands, gripping the swing so tightly that blood dripped down her wrists. She opened her mouth and screamed. A torrent of water flowed between her lips and pelted right at him—

The world pinged back, and he was standing in the hallway, leaning against Dean.

"Sign says the Children's Ward is right down this hall," Dean said, glancing at him as though nothing had happened. He saw his expression and froze. "What is it?"

"I just…" he trailed off, "You didn't see that?"

Dean looked at him anxiously. "See what?"

Sam groaned. "Hallucination."

Dean swore. "Okay, let's just keep moving." He walked forward, not releasing his grip around Sam's shoulders. He paused. "Are you…wet?"

Sam looked down at his shirt. There was a huge dark spot in the middle, and he moved his free hand down to touch it. "Water," he said.

Dean looked at the spot like it might morph into a demon. "Uh…silly question: where did it come from?"

Sam laughed helplessly. "The hallucination."

Dean started walking again, taking Sam with him. "Hallucinations don't let you bring back souvenirs."

"_Would you two hurry the hell up?"_

"Great," Dean muttered, "This guy again." He eased Sam into one of the chairs in the waiting room. "Be right back. Don't hallucinate."

Sam glared at him.

"_On the desk again…no, the other desk, damn it."_

Dean finally spotted the radio lying inside an old box under the main desk and carried it over to Sam. He sat it on the table in front of them.

"_Okay. Now what you need to do is—"_

"Shut up," Dean said sharply. Sam's head shot up in confusion, but Dean ignored him. "I want answers before we do _anything_."

"_There's no time—"_

"Look, _Snake Fist,_ tell us what we're dealing with so we can waste this bitch. We can handle it, we hunt ghosts for a living, okay?"

"_I know that._"

Dean paused. "You know?"

"_Yeah. I know everything. I know about you and Sam, and that your mother Mary died in your nursery when you were little. I know that you hunt the supernatural, and I know about how your father John died and sold his soul to save you. Most importantly for this context, I know all about Sam's psychic powers."_

Dean's expression had gone wooden. Sam leaned forward. "How…the hell…do you know any of that?" he hissed furiously.

"_I've got your file open right in front of me. 'Samuel Winchester.' Everything's recorded in here and organized linearly so it's easy to navigate the information—"_

"Stop talking!" Dean shouted at him finally, "Why do you have a file on Sam?"

"_That's…classified."_

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Dean raged, "Why do you know all that?"

"_Project Origin."_

"What is it?" Sam demanded.

_"I shouldn't say."_

"What is it?" Sam asked again.

_"I can't tell you."_

"Don't give me that bullshit, what the hell is it?" Dean snapped.

_"I can't-"_

"Now!"

Snake Fist sighed. _"Project Origin is a top secret government project, developed in order to cultivate young individuals with telekinetic gifts so that they can psychically control replica soldiers."_

There was a long pause. "Replica soldiers?" Sam said, trying to grasp onto something.

"_They're cloned soldiers designed by Armacham Technology Corporation. They were genetically engineered to be telepathically controlled. Damn popular idea too, because these super soldiers wouldn't have any family ties or emotional conflicts. Go into hell itself if commanded to."_

Sam ran a hand over his face. "And Alma?"

"_She was supposed to control them. She had the strongest telekinetic signature of all the kids they were tracking. But she didn't like being used and she hated the Tank, which was where they kept her. In short, they couldn't manipulate her and the whole thing blew up in their faces."_

"What then?" Dean asked apprehensively.

Snake Fist grunted. _"You're not gonna like this part."_

"I don't like any of it," Dean hissed back, "What happened next?"

"_They went back to their database of candidates that they'd been monitoring…uh…"_

"Go on…" Dean said darkly.

"_Okay, look. Sam's telekinetic signature actually tops Alma's. He was almost chosen the first time around, but his power is mostly raw and buried and she's able to control hers…and they thought that was the deciding factor."_

Sam stared at the radio for a long moment. He stood up and walked over to the opposite wall slowly, and then walked back. Dean was watching. He ignored him. "I almost got abducted by the government?"

"_Yes."_

"How old was I at the time?"

"_Ten."_

Dean hissed. "What the hell? You can't just abduct kids. Dad and I would have hunted down any son of a bitch that took Sam!"

"_They planned to fake his death. Actually already had it set up. You were all going on a hunt in Keystone State Park after a werewolf, and they were gonna snatch Sam when you left him alone and 'safe' at the cabin. After you had searched for a few days they planned to put a heap of shattered, blood stained bones in the area from a body that was about Sam's height and build."_

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked like he was about to rip the radio to shreds. He sat back down and moved his knee so that it was touching his brother's. "Didn't happen," he whispered.

"_You're upset. I get that."_

"You have _no idea_ how upset I am," Dean said, his voice calm and controlled. "If you were here, I would rip you apart."

"_Well, you could, but then you'd be up the creek without a paddle cause I'm the only one that can help you two right now. Especially since Sam's been chosen as Alma's replacement."_

"Replacement?" Dean snapped, fists clenched.

Sam cut in before Dean could start yelling. "How do we get out of here?"

"_Okay."_ Snake Fist said, and there was a rustle of paper. _"You need to go to room 408 in the Children's Ward. When you're in there, you'll find a small button on the wall underneath a poster about childhood asthma. When you push it, it should lower the floor of the room to hidden lab underneath the basement where Armacham Technology Corporation used to do…testing."_

"Underground lab? What kind of sick psychos are you people?" Dean asked heatedly.

Snake Fist ignored him. "_T__here's an old tunnel in the east sector that was blocked off for repairs, and you should be able to use that tunnel to get out of the building. Assuming that Alma doesn't get to Sam first."_

"She won't," Dean said darkly.

"_Fingers crossed and all that. I'll be waiting for you outside the tunnel. And…do you happen to have guns or ammo?"_

"We've got one pistol." Sam said.

"_Shit. Okay, when you get down to the testing area, look around for weapons first. You'll have to pass through the holding area to get to the tunnel, and Alma's turned off the power locks on the cages in there so you'll have to kill the specimens."_

"Specimens?"

"_Yeah…try to find big guns."_

"Why? What are they—"

"_You hunt monsters for a living, you'll be fine. I'd give you a…sixty percent survival rate, and that's taking into account that Sam's infection's spreading and he's probably going to be feverish soon and hallucinate more often."_

Sam winced. "I'll be fine."

"_I'm counting on that. Remember the guns, get to the tunnel. Snake Fist out."_

The radio buzzed a moment and then went to static. Dean snatched it off the table with a growl and hurled it into the nearest wall.

**Review please. :) **


	8. Underground

Sam watched as Dean paced furiously around the waiting room. He was muttering something under his breath, and though Sam couldn't hear him well he had an idea of what he might be saying. "Dean," he said, trying to catch his attention. Dean didn't look at him. "Dean!" Sam said louder. Still nothing. Sam ground his teeth together and stood up quickly.

Mistake.

The ground dropped out from underneath him as he toppled down. When he hit the ground, the impact jarred his throat, and for a moment it felt as though someone had shoved red hot spears into his flesh. Dean was beside him in an instant, hands gripping his shoulders lightly. "Shit. Sammy…shit. I'm sorry. Don't…don't move, okay? Just breathe through it."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his face deeper into the fibers of the carpet as he fought to get his breath back. He could feel Dean's hand rubbing circles in his back, and he tried to focus on the motion. It took a few minutes before he could breathe properly again. When he could, he tried to push himself up off the carpet and felt his brother assist him into a sitting position. He looked at Dean and tried to smile. "Remind me not to fall again. Ever."

"You've been falling a lot lately." Dean said nonchalantly. The firm set of his jaw betrayed his visual lack of concern.

Sam shrugged. "About twice an hour."

"That's unacceptable."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

"Wheelchair?"

"No."

"Crutches?"

"Don't see any."

"Knock you out?"

"Definitely not," Sam said, leaning back when he saw the glint in his brother's eye. "Dean, no. _No_."

"Can't fall if you're unconscious."

"Can't _defend_ myself if I'm unconscious."

"You couldn't hallucinate either. No more souvenirs."

"Knowing me, I would hallucinate and not be able to wake up. You know, because of being _unconscious_."

"Nah, you'd be fine. Don't be such a girl."

"_You're_ a girl."

Dean laughed, "Lame comeback, bro," he said. He stood up as Sam glared at him and extended a hand to his brother. "Fine, I won't knock you out. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Sam said, gripping his brother's hand and allowing him to slowly heave him to his feet. He swayed but stayed upright. "So…room 408?"

"Yeah. Should be right around the corner," Dean said. He led the way to the room and tried the handle. "Damn. Why is everything always locked?"

Sam stepped closer, peering into the square window on the door. Alma's face slammed up against the glass, bloody palms streaking against the surface. "_NO!"_

Sam yelled and jumped back, colliding into Dean.

"What?" Dean demanded, gun ready. "What is it?"

Sam looked back at the glass. She was gone. "I saw…I saw…"

"Her?"

"Yeah," Sam said. He stepped toward the door again, reached out a hand—

The handle turned slowly before he could reach it, and the door flew open and slammed hard against the inner wall. The glass in the door shattered and fell to the carpet.

Dean swore and jumped in front of his brother. Nothing happened. After a moment, the lights came on inside the room, revealing that it was empty. He turned his head so that he could see Sam's perplexed expression. "You didn't do that did you?"

"Uh...it's doubtful."

"Great," Dean muttered, peering into the room. He couldn't see her anywhere, but then again he'd never been able to see her.

"I don't think she's in there," Sam said. "Not anymore."

"What, she ran away?"

"I don't…" Sam began, and frowned. "I don't think she's trying to kill us. At least…not yet."

"Snake Fist said you were resisting her."

"Yeah, resisting her from getting _me_. But that doesn't explain why she hasn't killed you. I mean…you're normal just like the hospital staff. And they're all puddles on the floor."

"Must be my good looks," Dean said with a smile, and cautiously treaded into the room.

"She's a little kid." Sam said flatly.

Dean shrugged and gently tugged a poster for asthma treatment off the wall. He let it fall to the floor, revealing a small red button. "Bingo."

Sam felt something warm drip down his neck, and he reached up and wiped away a streak of crimson before Dean could see. "Press it," he said.

Dean hesitated for a moment and then slammed his fist onto the button. The floor trembled and then inched slowly downward through a shaft. Dean glanced at Sam, who had fallen into one of the chairs that were bolted to the floor. "When we get out of here, I'm suing the hospital."

"It's run by the government."

"Fine," Dean said, "I'll burn it down."

Sam smiled. "That sounds good."

The elevator jolted slightly as it reached the bottom. The walls of the room slowly lowered into slots in the floor with a grinding sound, leaving them standing in a large room full of computers, large television screens, and flashing lights.

"Oh man…" Sam muttered, "This is getting out of hand."

"Why couldn't it have just been a ghost?" Dean said, walking out onto the metal floor, "Ghosts are fine. They throw you around, you shoot them with rock salt, and then your burn the body while they try to kill you. It's simple."

"Well, there _is_ a ghost," Sam countered back, walking over to one of the computers, "She just might not be dead."

"Can't be a ghost if it's not dead."

"This one is," Sam said absently, booting up the system, "It's like Schrodinger's cat, alive and dead simultaneously."

Dean scoffed. "The cat was dead, Sammy, the old guy just felt bad telling the kiddies that he'd killed poor old Mittens."

"Can't tell if it's dead till you look."

"The girl's dead. She's a ghost."

"Not sure," Sam said, "Might just be a telekinetic projection."

"From a live person?"

"Maybe." Sam typed something else and stepped back. "Okay, I've hacked into the security system and unlocked the doors. I tried to take a look at the holding area, but something's blocking me from getting into the camera feed."

"So we need the guns."

"Yep. Top priority."

"And there are gonna be guns lying around?"

"We could get lucky," Sam said, as they walked through the first set of automatic doors into a long hallway. There were large windows all around. They were broken and smeared with dried blood.

"I feel luckier already," Dean muttered. "How's your throat?"

"Fine."

"How's the fever?"

"Fine."

"You're a bad liar, Sam."

"I learned from the best." Sam said, creeping behind his brother. The class cracked beneath their feet, echoing in the metal hallway.

Dean stopped beside a pile of melted goop that had been a person and pulled an M-16 from it. The gun made a sucking sound as it came free. The metal was melted in places, but seemed fine. Dean continued searching through the bloody mess for clips.

"Dude, that's disgusting."

Dean smirked and shoved the gun and ammo into Sam's hands. "Here you go, Sammy."

Sam wrinkled his nose and gripped the weapon, watching as Dean went through a second pile of goo to get a second M-16.

Dean stood back up and wiped a hand on Sam's shirt.

Sam pushed him away with a scowl. "I hate you."

"I know you do," Dean said, smirking. They walked farther ahead until they came to a metal door that was bigger than the others. A warning light flashed above the door, and an automated voice announced that the locking mechanisms on the cells had malfunctioned and that no one, under any circumstances, was to enter the next room.

"Holding area?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, staring warily at the entrance. "Holding area."

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	9. Holding Area

**For those of you who never thought Dean was gonna get hurt in this story…well…**

"Here," Dean said, pulling a shot out of his pocket and handing it to Sam. "I have a feeling you're going to need this."

Sam took the shot from his outstretched hand and looked at him blankly.

"Adrenaline shot," Dean said, "Swiped it from one of the rooms while you were out."

Sam winced. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, and I'm not falling for it. I'm pretty sure the "specimens" aren't something like fluffy kittens. Or unicorns."

"Mutant kittens?"

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. I'll just take the shot now," Sam said, prying the cap off. "Ready?"

"Let's go kick some specimen ass." Dean answered. Sam plunged the needle into his arm and deployed the liquid into his blood stream. They stepped past the automatic metal doors and into the room. The red lights were still flashing, making Sam uncomfortable as his heart rate rose. Dozens of small cells lined the floor, and the walkways up above were surrounded with the same cells.

Something lurched from the ceiling with a shriek, landing crouched a few meters from Dean. It was human shaped, its limbs distorted and so thin that every bone was visible through gaunt skin. There were gory bandages wrapped around its head, obscuring everything except blood stained teeth. Dean swore and fired a stream of bullets at the creature, but it twisted out of the way and climbed backwards up the wall. Its' bones made horrible cracking noises as they ground against one another. It finally stilled when it reached the walkway up above. Eyes glinted yellow in the emergency lights. It screamed, filling the room with its gasping cry.

Other creatures jerked down the walls toward them, snarling.

"Run," Dean said loudly, grabbing Sam's arm and pushing him ahead. They bolted for the door on the other side of the room, shooting as they ran. They reached the doors—

And collided hard with the metal. Sam winced at the sharp stab of pain and glanced at his brother. "Get down!" he shouted, and fired bullets over Dean's head into one of the creatures. It fell to the floor, seizing and slashing out blindly with jagged fingernails.

"What now?" Dean demanded over the sound of Sam's gunfire, slamming another clip into his own gun.

"Should be another—" A creature bit down on Sam's arm and he yelled and slammed it back into the metal wall until it let go, "Entrance on an upper level," he continued, "We need to move!"

Dean nodded. "I'll take point, you watch behind." He charged into the fray, shooting. The bullets kept them back for only seconds before they came charging again.

Sam noticed a green light above a door on the second level. "Door at three-o'clock!" he shouted, firing into a creature's face as it leapt at him.

"See it," Dean yelled back, starting up a metal staircase. The steps were slick with blood, and it was difficult to keep his footing.

"Have to reload!" Sam said, and Dean turned and shot one of the freaks right before it could slash at his brother. He spun back around and smashed his gun into the head of one of the closest creatures, sending it sprawling backward into the others. "Move it, Sam!" he yelled, making a dash for the door.

He didn't see the creature slinking out of the last cell until it pounced on him, knocking his gun over the railing. It straddled him and slashed at his chest with its long fingernails, tearing deep grooves into his skin. Dean tried to push it off, but it was too strong. He cried out as it leaned forward and bit deeply into into the flesh between his shoulder and neck. The creature pulled back roughly, ripping the flesh completely free, a large chunk of it clenched between its teeth. Dean yelled and pushed back helplessly, his own blood splattered across his face, mind not yet registering the pain.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying to reach him, "Dean!" A creature sank its teeth into his arm, and he bashed its face with the butt of his gun until it released him with a whimper. He felt another specimen leap onto his back, and he flipped his gun up over his shoulder and fired. An explosion of blood rained down on him, and he bolted forward and shot the thing tearing his brother apart cleanly through the head. It went limp and fell sideways.

Dean kicked out at one of the creatures coming toward them, sending it spinning into the rail. He thrust out his hand and Sam pulled him roughly to his feet and they were running, bolting for the exit—

They made it through, and the doors closed automatically behind them, locking.

Breathing hard, they collapsed side by side on the floor.

After a few seconds, Sam opened his eyes and pushed himself up on one arm so he could get a look at his brother. "Oh no…" he muttered. "No no no..."

Dean's eyes opened wearily. "Huh?" he said, eyes unfocused, "Wha's hapn'ing?"

"This is bad," Sam said, eyes tracing the slashes on his brother's torn up chest and stopping at the gushing hole in his shoulder. Blood was already pooling on the floor. He grabbed his arm as Dean's eyes started closing. "Stay with me, Dean!"

"M'awake." Dean muttered, looking at him through half lidded eyes. "You okay?"

_No._ "Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said, pressing his hands tightly over the spurting liquid. The blood gurgled up around his fingers, coating them a dark red. "Dean, stay awake!" Sam said frantically, watching his brother's eyelids droop again.

Dean grunted and squirmed under Sam's pressure. "Stop, S'm...Hurts."

"I know, I _know_, but I have to keep pressure on this," Sam said shakily, "You're...you're bleeding out."

"What?" Dean muttered.

"Where's the medical stuff you brought?"

"Pockets."

Sam fished through Dean's pockets until he found what he was looking for. It wasn't going to be enough. It wasn't going to be anywhere _near_ enough. _How can I fix this? How?_

"You first," Dean slurred.

"Okay," Sam lied tensely, hands bloody and shaking. Dean's eyes slid shut.

**Reviews are loved...and may help me post another chapter faster. :)**


	10. Hallucinations

**Now, you know I would never actually kill Dean…rough him up a bit, yeah, but kill him? Who would be left to banter with Sam? :)**

Dean needed a blood transfusion. Sam had a sweatshirt to try to stem the blood flow. Dean needed stitches. Sam had gauze. Dean needed antibiotics. Sam had half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a handful of cotton swabs.

Sam was starting to feel like MacGyver, and he didn't like it.

He managed to patch his brother up enough that he knew he _probably _wasn't going to die. At least, not at the present second. In a half-hour, on the other hand? Two hours? Maybe. Maybe not. It all depended on whether they could find help in time.

Sam felt sick. Dean's blood dried in flakes on his hands and hardened into dark brown clumps on his shirt. His jacket was completely saturated, and even though he was shivering he knew there was no way in hell he was putting the thing back on. Ever. He angrily crumpled it up into a ball of soiled crimson and hurled it into a wall. His throat throbbed. And the bite wounds…

They hurt like a _bitch._

He was exhausted. The adrenaline had worn off, and he could barely keep his eyes open, but he didn't want to go to sleep. Not with _her _out there. So he examined the bites the creatures had managed to land. They were deep, but nothing serious. One of them probably needed a couple stitches, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Dimly he wondered what kind of creatures had been in the room. Dean's zombie movies flashed in his psyche like an old movie roll, and he laughed. "What do you think?" he asked his motionless brother, "Are we gonna turn into crazed psychopaths?"

Dean, naturally, stayed still.

Sam rubbed some drops of hydrogen peroxide from the bottom of the bottle on his wounds. There wasn't enough left to do much good. He had to hope that he wasn't going to get another infection.

The wounds on his throat were seeping through the old gauze, but he didn't have anything left to clean them up. He left the gauze in place, figuring that touching the infection while covered in some unidentified humanoid blood wasn't going to make things any better.

His eyes were glazed, and he knew his fever was worse. He just wished Dean could wake up so that they could both pretend to be okay and stagger out before something else went wrong.

He fell asleep.

**SNSNSN**

Sam awoke to something weakly prodding his shoulder. He opened his eyes with a snap, ready to attack—

"Don't."

Sam relaxed, his heart still pounding.

"You look…terrible."

Sam turned toward Dean, startled to see him watching him through one eye. "You're awake."

"Unfortunately," Dean said. He winced and glanced toward the locked door. "They still out there?"

"I…" Sam said, and trailed off. "I don't know."

"We need to move."

"No. _Hell_ no," Sam said flatly, "If you move you're gonna start bleeding again."

Dean's gaze locked on the bite marks on his brother's arm. He opened his mouth.

Sam caught his gaze and sighed. "I cleaned them. Just didn't have anything to wrap them with."

Dean sat up slowly. It took way too much effort, and the world spun slightly. "Gah." He muttered, grabbing his head.

Sam reached out and grabbed his good shoulder, steadying him before he could hit the floor again. "Dean!" he snapped, "Damn it. Damn it, I told you, don't move. I don't know if they're still out there, alright? And I don't know where the crazy girl is. But Don't. Move. Okay? You almost died. Hell, you could still die, so don't move!"

Dean had turned an ugly shade of grey. "Don't move. Got it." He leaned back against the wall and looked at Sam's gun, which was lying forgotten on the bloody floor. "How much?"

"A clip and a half." Sam answered. "Hopefully we won't need it, just have to find the tunnel."

"And if we run into _her_ again?"

Sam shrugged. "Won't matter, then. Bullets won't work."

"Cause she's Schrodinger's cat?"

Sam smirked. "Yeah."

"You know, Sammy, the thing about Schrodinger's cat…"

"What?"

"When you pick the box up, it's either alive or dead."

Sam nodded. "We need to pick the box up."

"Well, we have to _find_ the box first."

"Yeah, that's going to be the tough part."

"Snake Fist will know where the box is."

"He won't tell us."

"He won't be given a choice," Dean said darkly.

Sam fell silent, and grabbed the gun off the floor. Its weight was reassuring, even though he could barely lift it at this point.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam said, looking up at his brother.

Red eyes glared back at him from behind matted black hair. "Stop running from me!" she shrieked, her voice slicing through him like knives.

He winced, jerking his body backwards away from her. His vision blurred and the metal walls expanded behind her, making the room huge. Grass sprouted. The tree shot up jerkily, pulling itself free of the dirt. Sam could feel the metal floor underneath him, cold and hard, and he tried to anchor himself to it. "Stay there!" he shouted, "Stay—"

It began raining, hard. At first Sam thought it was just an illusion, but then he felt fat raindrops plopping onto his head and spurting down his face. He was soaked in seconds, and the room began flooding. Inches of water already covered the floor.

She reached toward him, and Sam brought the gun up level with her eyes. She smiled at him, tilting her head to the side. A stabbing pain erupted in his skull, blackening out his vision completely. "Stop!" he gasped, buckling over, "Gah…stop…_stop_!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, and felt the water covering his face. He tried to lift his head back up out of the liquid but he couldn't move, his body wouldn't respond. Choking, he tried to hold his breath and pushed back as hard as he could.

"Sam!"

Sam jerked upward and pointed the gun in the direction of the voice, finger tightening on the trigger.

Dean.

Sam stared at him for a moment, gasping, eyes wild. Then he let the gun fall from his fingers and dropped his head down into his hands. He breathed for a moment and then looked blearily up at his brother, who looked _scared_. "Dean?"

"Thank God." Dean muttered under his breath. He maneuvered himself closer to Sam and pushed his brother up so that he could look him over. "Damn it." He whispered, eyes flashing. "Damn it. What happened? What did she do to you?"

Sam ran a hand over his face and let it drop down to his shirt—which was soaked through. Breathing out sharply he looked down and saw that he was drenched with water. The floor was dry, the walls were dry, the tree was gone—

"Sammy? Hey, look at me," Dean said worriedly. "Sam!"

Sam looked up at him with a jolt, the memory replaying in his mind. "Oh god, Dean, I almost shot you."

"You didn't," Dean said.

"But I almost—"

"You _didn't_!" Dean said sharply, his fingers tightening around Sam's shoulders. "You hear that? You didn't, okay?"

Still breathing hard, Sam met his eyes and nodded.

"You're soaked," Dean said, looking him over in angry disbelief.

"You…" Sam said, and trailed off. "You were here, but then _she _was you, and the tree, and it flooded…" he fell silent again, and then looked desperately at Dean. "I'm losing my mind, aren't I?"

"No," Dean retorted quickly, "No, you're not. She's messing with your mind, but you're not crazy."

Sam nodded and leaned his head back against the wall. "She tried to drown me."

Dean hissed between his teeth. "Anything else?"

Sam winced. "She made this…pain in my head…I couldn't even see it got so bad."

"We need to go," Dean said firmly.

"No," Sam shot back. "Absolutely not. Not until I know you're not going to bleed out."

"Sam, that girl could be back at any time. Neither one of us is in a position to face her right now."

Sam frowned, thoughts cloudy from confusion and the fever. "I kept her away."

"You're still alive," Dean said flatly, "But I don't know if you'll be able to do it again. We have to find that tunnel."

**Thanks to those of you who are still reading. I hope you are enjoying this so far!**


	11. Sam, MIA

"_You're still alive," Dean said flatly, "But I don't know if you'll be able to do it again. We have to find that tunnel."_

Sam limped along the corridor beside his brother, supporting him, trying to ignore his own pain and the fact that Dean's shirt was completely soaked through with blood. Dripping, actually. Making little soft squelching noises as drops of blood hit the floor, one by one, not showing any sign of stopping-

"Stop thinking about it," Dean said finally.

Sam gritted his teeth, caught. "About what?"

"It. You've got that look on your face."

"What look?" Sam asked innocently.

Dean glanced over at him and smiled. "That one. Stop worrying about me, I'm fine."

"Your shirt claims otherwise."

"Like the gauze on your neck, you mean?" Dean shot back, "It's saturated with blood and who knows what other fluids that _I've_ been trying not to notice."

"But you did notice," Sam said, trying to keep the slur out of his voice. His fever was really high now. He could only keep walking for a little longer before he was going to collapse, but Dean would never leave him behind. He needed to make sure they got out first.

"It's my job to notice," Dean said darkly. He stepped out of Sam's hold and wearily maneuvered around a melted body on the floor.

The lights went out.

Sam froze. "Dean?" he called tentatively.

His brother didn't reply.

"Dean!"

Nothing.

Sam swore. He reached out blindly for the wall, and after a moment of uncertainty his fingertips brushed against cool stone.

Sam hesitated, and then ran his hands over the rock wall, trying not to panic. Finally, he let his hands stop searching and tried to calm himself. _This could be perfectly normal. It's a rock wall. In an underground government lab. And the rest of the hallway is made of metal…but not…this patch…_

His thoughts came to a stumbling halt, and he breathed in deeply. The air was different. Musty. He could hear water dripping softly somewhere.

_This isn't the lab._

**SNSNSN**

"My brother is _gone_!" Dean yelled furiously into the radio outside the tunnel, "And I have no fucking idea where he is! Now I don't know all the facts, but I do know that you're going to damn well tell me what you know and help me find him!"

"_Look…I feel for you. Really, I do. I've never had a brother, but—"_

Dean let out a strangled growl. "Shut up!" he shouted, "I don't care about any hypothetical shit, I care about finding Sam, got it? And you're going to help me or I swear to god I will _hunt you down_."

"_Uh…"_

"Where are you?"

"_Um…"_

"I can track _anything,_" Dean spat, "Tracking you down will be easy."

"_I know that you can find me,"_ Snake Fist said worriedly, _"But Alma can track me easier than you can. She'll kill me, man. I'm already on her bad side cause of helping with Project Origin, but if she finds out I told you where she took Sam, she'll probably flay me alive."_

Dean tensed. "You know?" he said, his fists held tightly at his sides, "You know where she took Sam?"

"_I…uh…I have a pretty good guess. Look, dude, it's bad. If she took him there, where I think she took him…well, it's not worth it. He's probably already dead."_

"Don't you say that!" Dean raged, "Don't you dare! Sam's alive, okay? He's out there, and I'm gonna find him."

"_Look, I value your loyalty and all, and it's not that I don't want to help you. But listen man, she melts people. Melts. People. Liquefies their insides. Turns them into a mass of fluid. Goop. A soupy mess. I mean, I really can't stress that enough—"_

Dean's head fell slightly and he slumped down beside the radio. "Just…_please._" He said finally, "Please. You have to help me. I can't lose him, not again. Sam is all I have left."

"_Aw come on, dude. This is hardly fair. Look, I helped you get out of the hospital, right? That's what I said I would do, and I did it. I mean…she melts people."_

"Please."

There was a pause. _"Damn it. If she melts me, I'm going to hunt _you_ down."_

Dean glanced up hopefully. "You'll help?"

"…_yeah. Shit. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."_

"Where are you?"

"_You see the elementary school to your left?"_

"Yeah."

"_Walk toward it. I'm parked in the lot outside, grey Mini Cooper."_

Dean turned and staggered in the direction of the school, gritting his teeth against the throbbing burn in his shoulder. Blood soaked another layer of gore into his ruined shirt. Lightheaded and gasping for air, he spotted the car and slid into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to die in my car, are you?"

Dean lashed out with his fist, catching the man square in the nose.

"Ah! Gah, what the hell!" Snake Fist brought a hand up to catch the blood. His eyes stung. "Come on, man! I said I'd help."

Dean ignored him and leaned back in the leather seat, eyes wandering around the car. There were monitors hooked up to the dashboard, all tapped into the video feed at the hospital. He looked back at the man. "A Mini Cooper? Really?"

Snake Fist scowled. "It's inconspicuous. And it gets good gas mileage."

"It's a girl's car."

"Hey, some of us can't afford to live on credit card scams and pool winnings—don't." he said as Dean raised his hand again, "I'm the one helping you, and friends don't hit each other."

"I'm not your damn friend," Dean said, but lowered his hand anyway. "Now where's Sam?"

"He's where Alma is."

Dean gritted his teeth in annoyance. "She's a ghost. She could be anywhere."

"No, I mean he's where her body is. She'll have taken him to the Tank so she can feed on him."

"The tank?"

"It's where the kept her locked up all those years."

Dean felt a chill shoot through him. "Is she alive?"

Snake Fist smiled worriedly. "No one knows."

"Yeah, that's great, by the way. Killing machine wreaking havoc and you idiots don't even know if she's dead."

"People checked…no one came back to report."

Dean groaned and moved on. "So where is this tank? Is it in town?"

Snake Fist winced. "No."

"Great. Well, what state is it in, then?"

"Uh…it's not in a state. Or in the country."

Dean raised his eyebrows, glaring at him. "What?"

"It's in the Czech Republic. In the suburbs of Kutna Hora."

Dean was silent for a long time. He laughed bitterly, "This just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

"They set up the tank there because of the interference they thought the spirits would cause."

"The spirits?"

"Yeah. They thought that so many ghosts would distort her telekinetic powers, diminish them, if you will. The scientists all said there was _no way _she would be able to penetrate that paranormal mess while she was contained inside the Tank, and they worked out deals with some important political figures over in the Czech Republic so they could store her there until the replica soldiers were ready for a test run."

Dean rubbed a hand across his temple. "Look," he said, "I admit it, I've lost a hell of a lot of blood. But could you please try to make sense?"

"They kept her in the Sedlec Ossuary, Dean. To put it crudely, it's decorated with the bones of plague victims from the Black Death."

"How many bodies?"

Snake Fist sighed. "Forty Thousand."


	12. Jar of Dirt

**Hey everyone. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, things have been crazy and rediculously busy and I'm just not in a good place right now. Buuuut here's the next chapter. Enjoy. **

Sam cautiously felt his way across the room in the dark, using the stone wall to guide him. The wounds in his throat felt like they were on fire. They might as well have been, with his fever as high as it was.

_Need to keep going_.

His questing fingers finally reached a pane of wood. He groped downward until he found the handle, and twisted it apprehensively. The door swung open easily, and candlelight filled his eyes and dimly illuminated the room.

He stood there for a long moment, looking around. "Oh…" he said finally, leaning back tiredly against the wall, "Oh."

His vision spun again, and this time he didn't try to resist the fatigue. He hit the floor hard.

**SNSNSN**

"Look, I don't think I should be the one to do this," Snake Fist said timidly, holding the sterilized needle away from himself like it was poisonous. "I mean…doctors are trained in this, I think that—"

"No time," Dean said shortly, "Do it."

"I…don't like blood."

"Good for you, then, cause I have very little left," Dean said, "Now hurry up before your friend gets here."

"Keegan is not my friend," Snake Fist said stuffily. "He's insane."

"I don't care. He can fly planes, that makes him an instant friend of ours. Now _stitch_."

Snake Fist leaned forward, cringing. He lowered the needle so that the point made an impression on Dean's skin, and then froze there, sweat forming on his brow.

Dean watched him hesitate for about thirty seconds. "Damn it. Just…just give it here," he snapped, snatching the needle away from him. "I'll do it myself."

"Oh good. Good." Snake fist said, sinking back down onto the bed in relief as Dean made the first stitch. "I think I might pass out."

"No," Dean grunted, gritting his teeth, "You're going to tell me about the Sedlec Ossuary."

"Ah. Right," he said, "Well, what do you want to know?"

"History," Dean said tensely, pulling a stitch tight.

"That looks really painful," Snake Fist said, watching.

"History. _Now." _

He leaned back on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, it all started with this jar of dirt."

Dean paused in his stitching. "Dirt?"

"Yeah, they called it holy soil because it was from Jerusalem, but it's just dirt, really."

Dean grunted.

Snake Fist took that as a signal to keep going. "The common people thought that having that dirt was a pretty big deal, so they all wanted to be buried at that small chapel. The cemetery had to be expanded. Of course, a lot of people died because of the Black Death, so they're buried there too."

"Great. Angry plague victims." Dean interrupted darkly, gripping the needle tightly as he made another stitch.

"Yeah…" Snake Fist said, "Fast forward to the fifteenth century. A Gothic church was built near the cemetery, and its basement was used as an ossuary. The bones stayed there untouched until…um…the eighteen hundreds."

"Get to the point," Dean snapped, mopping up some of the blood with a cloth so he could see the wound better.

"Impatient little…" Snake Fist muttered.

"The point!"

"Fine! The cemetery was overcrowded with old bodies, so they hired this guy Frantisek Rint, a woodcarver, actually, to use the bones to decorate the place."

Dean froze. "Decorate?" he said icily, "As in..."

Snake Fist swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"That's sick."

"Not really," he said, "Those 40,000 people _wanted _to be buried near the holy soil, and it would have actually been crueler to take them away from it and put them in a mass grave or something. And anyway, doing this gave the current people room to bury their dead. Everyone wins, really."

"The church is decorated with bones," Dean restated angrily. "How does that sound like a good idea to you?"

"Well, it's interesting if nothing else. Original. For instance, there's a chandelier in there that's constructed with at least one of every bone in the human body—"

"I don't care. Ever heard of angry spirits?"

"Well…yeah."

"Do you think they want to part of a chandelier?"

Snake Fist paused. "Maybe."

"You're an idiot," Dean said, tossing the needle back onto the bed. "I'm done. Why isn't this friend of yours here yet?"

"He had to locate a plane we could use. Under the grid. Do you know how difficult that is? If Genevieve Armestide finds out she'll have us hunted down by assassins."

"Who's she?"

"President of Armacham Technology Corporation. She became the head of Project Origin after Harlem Wade died…" he paused, "She was Alma's father."

"Her own _father_ shut her up in a Tank and experimented with her?" Dean said, voice rising.

"Surprised?"

"No," Dean said, "People are worse than ghosts most of the time," he fell quiet. "So Sam is in there. With 40,000 ghosts. _And_ an angry telekinetic girl that could be dead but might not be."

"Told you it was bad news."

"He'll be fine," Dean said, determined, "He knows what to do in these situations."

"Dean, I've read Sam's entire file," he said quietly, "He's _never _faced anything like this situation."

**SNSNSN**

Sam woke up lying on the cold stone floor. He groaned and pushed himself up slowly, feeling his muscles scream in protest, and blearily opened his eyes.

Skulls trailed ornately up the walls, tapered off with femurs near the ceiling, and curled off on ribcage arches. He pushed himself to his feet and tottered a little before mostly gaining his balance.

_Have to get out. Have to find Dean._

He forced himself to stagger forward toward a doorway out of the room. He tried the handle. Locked.

Cursing quietly he turned to seek out another possible exit—and turned too quickly. He was hit with a wave of vertigo and fell, slamming the side of his head off a wooden bench on the way down.

He cried out in frustration and pain, and raised a trembling hand to his temple. It came away sticky with blood.

"Sam?"

Sam's head jerked up. Alma was sitting on a bench beside him, hands gripped tightly around an old doll. Her projection flickered as he watched.

He scowled and tried to pull himself back, but his vision spun again. He fell back to the stone.

"Do you see me?"

Sam gritted his teeth together and managed to push himself into a sitting position. _I don't have a weapon. I don't have a phone. Where am I, and where the hell is Dean—_

"I'm sorry for what Mommy did to your throat," she said, her voice flat. "She didn't want you to be my friend."

Sam nodded helplessly, trying to think of a way to talk himself out of this. His mind refused to cooperate, and he stayed silent, staring at her.

"You don't have to worry," She shifted on the bench, dropping her doll to the floor beside him. "I took good care of Mommy."

Sam shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Listen…I'm sorry about your mother. And…I'm sorry for what happened to you. But I just want to get back to Dean."

"He's your brother. You love him."

Sam grimaced as he tried to stand. He gave up. "Yes. Yes I do, very much."

"I know. That's why I didn't kill him…like the others." She slid down off the bench until she was sitting across from him. "I love the people you love."

Sam glanced to the side, trying to see an exit. There was a door near the front of the chapel, but he'd never be able to reach it in time. "Why?" he said, trying to stall for time.

"Because I'm like you. He always said I was."

"Who said that?"

"Daddy."

Sam leaned back slightly. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"It's dark in the tank."

Sam blinked hard, trying to stay conscious. "The tank?"

"Where they put me," she said, leaning closer to him. "I can't get out."

"You look like you're out," Sam said levelly, trying to push back his fear of what she could do. "You're right here."

"Can you see me?" She said, and her voice was sharper. "It's so dark."

Sam didn't say anything. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

"I want you to stay."

"With you?"

"With me. In the tank," she said, smiling. "I always thought of you as a big brother. Will you be my big brother, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Do I get a choice?"

As if in answer, Alma looked at the door that had been locked. It creaked open, and sunlight drifted through the crack.

"I can leave?" Sam said, disbelief ringing in his voice.

"Yes," she said, but then continued darkly, "But if you leave, I won't love you anymore."

Sam groaned and rubbed a hand across his face, dragging flecks of blood. "You'll kill me?"

"No," she said dangerously. "Not you."


	13. Choice

_Sam groaned and rubbed a hand across his face, dragging flecks of blood. "You'll kill me?"_

"_No," she said dangerously. "Not you." _

Sam looked at her sharply, catching a hint of red in her eyes. "Stay away from Dean."

"I want you to be _my_ brother, not his!" She said defiantly.

Sam's mouth went dry. "Don't," he said, unable to think of anything persuasive to say. She could do anything she wanted, kill anyone she didn't like. Latin readings or chalk symbols were about as useless as sticks against a light saber.

"I don't want to kill him," she said, "Just don't leave. We'll have so much fun."

Sam glanced toward the door. The sunlight slanted through the crack.

"Decide," Alma said, pushing her doll toward him. "If you stay…come find me."

Sam felt something cold brush against his arm. He looked up…and she was gone, her doll sprawled beside him on the stone.

He hesitated for a moment and picked the doll up. It was small, made of cloth that was coated with dust and grime. The left eye was missing. It leered up at him, laughing with closed lips.

He breathed out heavily and stood, using the bench to ease himself up. The door was right there, it was so close. He walked over to it and leaned against the frame so he could look out.

He hesitated for a moment.

"Sorry, Dean."

**SNSNSN**

Sam stood inside the dismal chapel for a long time, watching the shadows of flame flicker across the stone. "Alma," He said, his voice coming out as a croak. He cleared his throat, angry. "Alma. I want to talk to you."

Nothing happened.

Sam folded his arms across his chest. "Alma!"

A shape appeared at the other end of the room, shrouded in darkness. Distorted, it flashed toward him, strands of black hair streaming back to reveal red eyes. "Yes?"

Sam's throat felt thick, restricting against his next words. "I choose you," He said, trying to sound happy. Bile rose up in his stomach.

She smiled widely. Little dimples creased her cheeks, and she laughed. "I knew you would!" she cried, springing forward and hugging him tightly, "You're not like the others. You're the best big brother ever! Ever, ever, ever!"

Sam gritted his teeth. Her arms were frigid chunks of ice, wrapped around him like a cocoon. He felt trapped.

"Come on, Sammy!" she said, tugging at his arm. Leading him toward a door. "Come on! The tank won't be lonely ever again. I won't ever be alone, and you'll never be alone!"

"Wait," Sam said.

Alma's smile crumpled. "What?"

Sam smiled at her. "Oh no, don't worry," he said, running his hand over her hair. "I'm still going with you. We'll…we'll have so much fun in the tank!"

Her face lit up again. "I know we will."

"But…Alma," Sam said carefully, "I need you to do me a favor. As my little sister."

"Anything!"

"Well, you know I'm a wonderful brother, right?"

She hugged him again. "Yes."

"I just need to say goodbye…to Dean. Since I'm never going to see him again. Ever." he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "It wouldn't be very brotherly if I left without saying goodbye."

She pulled back and looked at him. "And then you'll be my brother?"

Sam laughed. "I'm _already _your brother. I just want a chance to say goodbye to Dean."

She paused a moment, and then grinned again. "I'll bring him here. Then you can talk."

"You won't hurt him, right?" Sam said worriedly.

"No! No, he'll be fine. I'll never hurt him." she said, smile widening. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

She disappeared.

Sam's vision blurred. He blinked back against the pain and fever. He wanted to sleep.

And he had no idea what to say to Dean.

**SNSNSN**

"Why isn't he here yet?" Dean demanded, pacing around the room. Blood dried on the carpet where he had bled earlier, turning the blue fibers a crusty black.

Snake Fist peered at him over the newspaper he was reading. He ground his teeth together. "What part of 'trying to find a plane for us to use' don't you understand? Planes aren't just lying around. This is a delicate process. If anyone finds out what we're doing they will _kill us_. Shoot us out of the sky. And getting killed, well, that won't help Sam at all."

"He's alone with her."

"Yeah, he is. He's alone with her. Hell, he could be dead already. Either way, you can't do shit about that until we get over there."

Dean squeezed his fingers into fists as he imagined killing the man in front of him. Shooting him, stabbing him, choking him, smothering him, drowning him, slamming his head in a drawer—

"Fine," Dean said, sitting down on a bed.

Snake Fist paused for a moment and then breathed out heavily. "Good. Good. Holy shit, I thought you were going to murder me."

Dean shrugged.

"Just…just stay over there, alright?" Snake Fist said, waving a hand in his direction, "I don't have a death wish. I just work with computers and made some really shitty job choices. I should have just worked at Best Buy all my life. It's safe there. I could just have played video games all the time. Shit. No psychotic dead kids either."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes.

"Look, Keegan should be here in a few hours, and then we'll go to the plane. Until…"

Silence filled the room as Snake Fist trailed off. Dean looked up, irritated. "What?"

Snake Fist gurgled. An angry slash flushed across his throat. Beads of blood gathered at the corners, bubbling red froth as he tried to draw in a breath. His eyes screamed to him for help.

Dean jumped up. The lights went out.

The silence was only broken by Snake Fist's gasping wheeze for breath as he died.

"Hello."

Dean spun around. Red eyes peered at him from waist height.

Dean almost attacked her. He almost threw himself at her, without a weapon, without anything but his bare hands. But before he died, he had to know. "Where's Sam?"

"He wants to talk to you."

He blinked, confused. Her fiery eyes seemed to bore into his soul. "He's…he's okay?"

"I would never hurt Sam," she said, "Do you want to come see him?"

Dean paused. "I get a choice?"

"Of course."

"Then I want to see him," he said, "Now."


	14. Brothers

**Thanks so much for the reviews! You all are great. Enjoy the next chapter. :)**

Dean felt a swift wind sweep across his face in the darkness. The air changed, becoming cool and dry, and candle flames sputtered to life on a chandelier. A chandelier that he knew for a fact contained every bone in the human body. A chandelier that could only belong at the Sedlec Ossuary.

He turned, ignoring the bones that covered the sanctuary, searching—

A hand grabbed his arm. "Dean."

He turned, so quickly that his vision spun for a moment, and found himself face to face with his little brother. "Sammy," he breathed, relief flooding through him. He pulled him into a brief hug and then held him at arm's length so he could look at him. "You look…"

Sam smiled. "Awesome?"

"Awful," Dean corrected him, looking away from his feverish eyes to watch blood seep down his neck and soak into his shirt. "Come on, we have to get you out of here, find a hospital." He started to walk toward the door.

Sam didn't move.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Sam, come on. The bitch will be back soon, we don't have much time."

Sam clenched his hands and looked down. "I'm…I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean's blood ran cold. He walked back to Sam, trying to push back the fear that was rising up inside of him. "What did you do?"

Sam stayed silent.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted, shaking his shoulders fiercely, "What did you do?"

"I can't go," Sam said softly, gripping Dean's shoulder tightly with one hand.

Dean felt his brother's hand shaking. "Why the hell not?" he demanded.

Sam didn't say anything.

"Sam," Dean said, "Why the hell not?"

Sam looked at him. "I'm staying with Alma."

Dean's mind swirled with confusion. "No," he said, "Oh no. _Hell_ no. You're coming with me, Sam. We're leaving."

Sam shook his head. "I can't." he mumbled quietly.

"Yes you can!" Dean snapped. "She's not here, we can go!"

"No," Sam said sadly, "She's here. She brought you here because I asked her to. So that I could tell you…" he trailed off, swallowing hard, unable to say it.

Dean shook off his hand. "No. Damn it Sam, _no_! We are leaving together, okay?"

"I can't leave." Sam said helplessly.

"Why?"

"She said she'd kill you if I left," Sam said loudly. "She'll kill you."

"Then let her kill me!" Dean shouted back, "You're not staying with her!"

"I don't have a choice!"

"There's always a choice!"

"Yes, there is!" Sam yelled at him, "And I'm choosing _you_. I'm choosing to _not _let her kill you!"

Dean tried to breathe slowly, tried to calm himself down. It wasn't working. "What does she want with you?"

"She's…lonely."

"So get her a dog," Dean snapped. "Why does she want you in particular?"

Sam shrugged weakly, "She says I'm like her. Because of my powers."

"I don't see you out there melting people!"

"She…she wants me to be her big brother." Sam mumbled, staring at Dean.

"Well she can't have you!" Dean said fiercely, "Cause _I'm_ your big brother."

Sam's face contorted. "I know you are, Dean."

Dean ran a hand over his eyes, glancing at the bones decorating the chapel. "Where's the way out of this mess, Sam?"

"I can't see one this time…she's too powerful."

"No. No, there's always a way out. Always."

"Not this time."

Dean hissed, grabbing onto Sam's arms. Anchoring himself to his brother. "Sammy. Look at me."

Sam met his gaze desperately, looking to him for an answer.

Dean didn't have one.

"I'll find a way out of this. I promise."

Sam nodded fervently. "Okay."

"Don't you dare give up on me."

"I won't," Sam said, with a small smile.

"Good," Dean said, "Cause if you even think of giving up, I'll—"

"Dean," Sam said, stopping him, "I won't."

"It's time for you to go," a voice said behind them.

Dean turned slightly. Alma stood there, her black hair billowing around her pale face. Sam's grip tightened painfully on his arm.

"No," Dean said, moving in front of his brother. "I'm not leaving Sam."

She smiled. "He chose me," she said.

"You can't have him," Dean snarled, "He's _my _little brother_."_

Her smile widened. "Not anymore."

Sam's grip on his arm was so tight it was nearly drawing blood.

"I'm not leaving!"

"You don't get a choice," she said simply. "Sam chose for you."

She reached out to touch him.

Dean flinched, shrinking back. He backed up into his brother, who grabbed him with both arms in a restrictive hold, stopping him from getting away.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, tightening his arms across his brother's chest.

Dean struggled madly against his brother's hold. "Let me go, Sam—"

Alma's outstretched fingers lightly touched his chest.

Dean disappeared in a whirl of wind.

Sam stared at the space his brother had stood, letting his empty arms fall to his sides.

Alma grinned happily at him. "Ready to go to the tank, Sammy?"

Sam tried to smile. "Yeah."

Alma reached out and took his hand.


	15. It's a Mad World

**Ummm...sorry this is so late. Student teaching controls my life. Enjoy. **

Dean thudded face forward onto the hotel carpet. The unhealed slashes on his chest and shoulder throbbed angrily at the mistreatment.

He pounded his fist into the ground and let loose a frustrated scream through clenched teeth. This couldn't be happening. Sam was trapped in another country with some psychotic freak and he was _here_, on the other side of the damn _world_, with no way to get to him. There was nothing he could do, he would never be able to reach his brother in time—

There was a soft click of a safety being released.

Teeth gritted, Dean glanced up into the barrel of a gun.

"Why hello there," a voice said from above, "You have one second to tell me your name before I decorate this shit hole like an abstract painting. I'm thinking the maids would appreciate some quality splatter paint."

Dean blinked at him.

"Well, audios."

"Woah, woah—wait!" Dean said, trying to push himself up.

"Nooooo," the man said, placing the barrel of the gun against Dean's forehead. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Okay," Dean growled, "I'm not moving."

"And I'm shooting you."

"Dean Winchester," He blurted out, staring down the barrel.

"That's not my name."

"No," Dean said, teeth clenched, "That's _my_ name."

"Well why the hell did you just call _me_ by your name? Are you slow or something?"

"I didn't call you by my name, I was telling you my name so you wouldn't shoot me!"

"Why would I shoot you if your name was my name?"

"Your name isn't my name, _I'm_ Dean Winchester!"

"Oh," the man said, lowering his gun, "Why didn't you say that first off? Snake Fist told me about you. You're the guy that needs the plane to save his kid brother, right?"

Dean stared at him in disbelief as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. "_You're_ Keegan?"

"That's right," Keegan said. "I headed over as soon as Fist called, but…" he gestured carelessly with the gun toward the body, "He's not up for talking right now."

"No."

"You kill 'im?" he asked, swinging the gun back around to point at Dean.

"No!" Dean shouted angrily, "No, Alma killed him. And point that damn gun in some other direction."

Keegan shrugged and hefted the gun over one shoulder. "How much you paying me?"

Dean stared at him. "What?"

"Paying me for the mission. How much?"

"Nothing," Dean said, with a laugh. "God, I've got nothing."

"Hmm…and this Alma girl. What's she like?"

"She melts people," Dean said flatly.

"Really? Ha! And what's the plan?"

"Fly a plane out of here, avoid being shot down by the government, go the Sedlec Ossuary and rescue my brother from Alma without being melted or killed by 40,000 plague victims."

Keegan stared at him for a moment, and then a huge smile split across his face, showing all his white teeth. "That is bat shit insane!"

"Please," Dean said desperately, "I know it's crazy but you have to help, I have to get my brother out of this mess—"

"Are you kidding?" he interrupted, rubbing his hands together excitedly, "Crazy is what I do best. This'll be the most fun I've had in months. It's perfect! Grab your gear, let's go."

Dean's mouth dropped open slightly. "…now?"

"What, you wanna wait for Hanukkah, dreidel boy? Get your ass up and out that door and let's get to that plane!"

**SNSNSN**

"_That _is your plane?" Dean whispered, staring over the fence into a dark backyard. An old, rusting helicopter sat sunken down into the mud. It was missing a door, and the windows were all cracked.

"Helicopter," Keegan corrected him, "And it's not mine. Yet," he said, leaping over the fence and jogging to the chopper.

Dean glanced worriedly at the house beside the helicopter, noting that lights were still glinting through multiple windows on the first floor. He rushed over to Keegan, who was studying the craft with pleasure.

"We're really stealing this thing?"

"Yep."

Dean gritted his teeth. "Look, there's no way this hunk of metal will fly."

"Course she will, she's a beauty," he said, climbing inside and up to the controls. He fiddled with a few things and then reached into his pack and handed a canister to Dean. "Go over to that truck and syphon us some gas, I'll handle the family." He jumped back out of the truck and darted over to the front door.

Dean stared after him, his mouth open in shock, the gas can hanging loosely from his fingers. "Handle…the family?" he muttered, then took a step forward and said loudly, "Handle the family? What do you mean 'handle the family?'"

Keegan spun around, running backwards. "Ssssshhhh!" he said, putting a finger to his lips. He smiled widely, then spun back around and rang the doorbell with a flourish.

Dean cursed, ducking down beside the helicopter, the empty gas can hanging from his fingers. It was starting to rain, and drops plunked onto his hair and beaded down his face. He paused for a few moments and then ran off into the dark, overgrown yard to the pickup truck beside an old oak tree. He syphoned the gas into the container and then ran back to the helicopter.

Keegan was already there. Waiting.

"What did you do?" Dean demanded.

Keegan smiled.

"Damn it, what the hell did you do to them? Who was in that house? I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me!"

Keegan laughed. "You're a shitty liar."

Dean's mouth opened, then snapped closed. Soundlessly. "You—"

"You need this, kid. You need this plane. You're not fooling anyone, there ain't no other way you're getting to this kid brother of yours without this hunk of metal, or me. Now pour the gas in and get your ass inside before I leave you here."

Dean stood there defiantly. "What did you do?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered. "You're wasting time. Barring random acts of God, we're already too late to save him. No way Alma's keeping him alive. She's broken up inside. Mangled. And she'll break your brother, too."

Dean snarled. "He's fine."

"She'll break him," Keegan repeated firmly, staring down at him from the helicopter. "You won't even be able to recognize him after she's done. He'll be a shell."

"Shut up!" Dean raged, "Shut up!"

"Pour the gas in the tank."

Dean stood there, breathing heavily, torn between wanting to shoot him and wanting to punch something, anything. In the end, he made the only choice he could make.

Keegan turned to look at him as he clambered up inside the chopper. "The only one home was the missus," he said conversationally, "I locked her in a closet."

"Then why the hell didn't you say that?" Dean growled.

He pressed some switches, and the blades started rotating. "I had to be sure."

"Of what?"

"Of how important this brother is to you," Keegan said. He smiled broadly back at him, "Apparently he's _very_ important. Important enough that it didn't matter _what_ I'd done in that house."

"I didn't—"

"You did," he snipped, "And you will again. Anyway, does this brother of yours have a name? You never did say. I mean, I could always make one up."

Dean didn't say anything.

"Alright. How bout we call him Ricardo. He could play Spanish guitar and fight bulls with a swishy red cape."

Dean leaned back against the wall. "I wouldn't have killed anyone."

"Or we could call him Bruno. Or King Richard the III. Or Agnes."

"It's Sam."

"Oh, little Sammy, eh?"

"It's _just _Sam." Dean snapped.

Keegan grinned widely. "Ah. I seem to have hit a nerve. Always a pleasure, and with that—Laaaadies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts and stay away from the windows as we prepare for takeoff," he said, flipping some final switches.

Against all odds, the chopper lifted off the ground.


	16. Free Falling

**Hey readers! Thanks for the reviews, I'm soo glad you're enjoying the story. :) **

Dean remembered exactly why he hated flying a few hours into the trip. Mainly he remembered hating the distance to the ground and the unreliability of a flimsy metal craft that separated you from becoming a fleshy pancake with blood syrup. But flying with Keegan was worse. Far worse.

Before, he had sat inside, on a chair, in air conditioning. If you closed your eyes, you could almost forget how close you were to dying. Almost.

Now, the windows were all cracked, letting frigid wind break against his skin and slam against the inner walls of the helicopter. A door was missing. The seatbelts were all broken. A flashing light constantly pulsed on the control board, warning that something was amiss.

And if all that wasn't bad enough, a lightning storm had spawned and encompassed their little craft, throwing icy water inside and making it difficult to avoid falling out of the copter during all the turbulence.

Dean clenched his eyes shut against the sounds and wrapped his numb fingers around a metal bar. His thoughts swirled darkly around his little brother. This was all taking too _long_. That girl could melt people with her mind, she could kill people just by looking at them, and Sam—

No.

Sam was alive. He was going to find him.

**SNSNSN**

Dean wasn't sure how long he hunched there, gripping the bar. Hours. Days maybe. His skin iced over, and he shivered uncontrollably, breath coming out in white puffs that swirled out the open door.

The world flickered.

Dean blinked hard, drawing in another labored breath. Another flicker.

A shape hovered above him, a shadow. Looming.

He blinked again, and the shape was gone. Disconcerted, he turned toward Keegan to say something—

The pilot seat was empty.

Dean sat up straighter, and the world flashed again, driving knives into his skull. He doubled over, gasping in pain, and lost his grip on the bar. The helicopter jolted and tipped him out the open door.

He fell. His body tumbled uncontrollably in the frigid air until he was unable to even tell which way was up. Screaming voicelessly, hands grasping at nothing—

He hit the ground and fell through, driving deeper into the darkness.

The sound of impact was the worst. Bones snapped. Blood exploded outward—

He lay there for a while, face pressed onto something soft. It tickled his face and nose, making him want to sneeze.

"HE'S MY BROTHER!"

Dean opened his eyes with a jolt. He was lying in a field of black hair.

He thrust his hands out to try to pull himself out, but the movement made him sink deeper into the mess. The strands twisted around him, digging their way into his nostrils and ears, forced their way passed his closed lips and deep down his throat.

He gagged, tearing desperately at the thick mass that was stopping his breath. More strands worked their way into his eyes, coating them and digging deep into his eye sockets until he was blind—

It worked its way deep inside of him. He could feel it snaking through his veins, squeezing his organs, choking his life away like a parasite.

"GO AWAY!" The voice shrieked again, and it was her, could only be her, Alma, killing him.

The pressure stopped all at once, and the hair vanished, leaving him alone and gasping. The air was thick and smelled of decay.

A hand gently touched his shoulder. "Dean," a voice said, "Hey."

Dean's eyes snapped open at the sound of _that_ voice, and he sat up hurriedly to face—Sam. Dean's mouth opened and shut. He was still disoriented, still having trouble breathing.

"I don't have much time," Sam said urgently. "Alma's angry. I stopped her from killing you, but you have to turn back."

He was lying in an open field, a gnarled tree jutted from the ground beside him. A lone swing twisted back and forth in the breeze.

_creeeek…creeeek…creeeek…creeeek…_

"Dean!" Sam snapped, grabbing his shoulder, "She'll kill you! You have to leave me!"

Dean heard himself laughing. He wasn't even aware that he was doing it, and the sound escaping his lips was hysterical even to _him_, and he saw Sam's face contort as he hovered over him. "Sammy," Dean said through gasps, "_If_ you're even here, wherever the hell here is, and whatever the hell is going on, you know. You _know_. I'm not leaving you with her."

Sam groaned and pulled Dean closer to him. Dean felt a button from Sam's shirt dig into his forehead and he breathed in deeply. "You're such a stubborn jerk," Sam muttered, voice tight.

"I'll get you out," Dean said, muffled, "Promise."

"Dean," Sam said sadly, "I'm already dead."

**SNSNSN**

Dean woke up with a gasp. He pushed back against the arm that was shaking his shoulder. "No!"

The hand on his shoulder gripped him tightly, and then his face stung. Startled, he opened his eyes. Keegan leaned over him, arm still raised from the slap he had just delivered.

Dean kicked out, catching him just below the knees, and tried to push himself away. Keegan grabbed his legs and pinned him down.

Unable to move, Dean glared up at him.

"You done?" Keegan growled. "Cause I could keep this up allllll day."

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded.

"Waking you," Keegan said, "You were screaming bloody fucking murder."

"I wasn't asleep."

"Right, of course," Keegan said with a grin, "Then I guess you know that we've landed, huh pretty boy?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Yeah, you weren't sleeping my ass. We got here a few minutes ago. Then you started shrieking and seizing and flailing your arms—"

"I didn't—"

"Was it her?" Keegan demanded, still pinning him down.

"What?"

"The dead chick. Was it her?"

Dean's face contorted as it all came back to him. Sam's final words hammered into his brain—_I'm already dead I'm already dead I'm already dead I'm already—_

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," Keegan said, "Look. I'm letting go of you now. Don't attack me or I will shoot you. Point blank."

Dean breathed as he was released. He didn't try to get up.

"I hired a cab while you were sleeping, the guy doesn't speak a word of English but I waved my gun at him and he graciously offered to drive us to the Ossuary free of charge. People here are lovely. I might even consider buying a summer home."

Dean didn't move. "He was lying."

Keegan's brow furrowed, "No, I'm pretty sure he'd rather drive us than get shot. At least, that's the conclusion I made—"

"I mean Sam," Dean snapped, "He was lying."

Keegan grinned. "Sam?"

"He said he was dead."

"While you were sleeping?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It was like the dream root stuff but without it, I mean, everything was real and he was there, I _know_ he was there. It wasn't just a dream."

Keegan laughed. "Damn. And people tell me _I'm _insane."

"I'm not crazy."

"I am. I'm not scared to admit it."

"He told me I was dead so that I'd leave him here," Dean said determinedly.

"_Or_ he told you he was dead because he's dead and dead men don't need rescued. Because they're dead. Stands to reason, I think."

Dean scowled.

"What? Can't a man play devil's advocate?" Keegan said, loading another clip into his gun.

"Where's the cab driver?" Dean demanded, eyes glinting.

"Oh, I handcuffed him to the helicopter. He's outside, graciously waiting for us."

"Uncuff him. We're leaving."


	17. Alma's Swing

Dean sat in the backseat of the cab. Keegan sat to his right, gun nestled neatly at the base of the driver's sweaty neck. No words were exchanged.

The window was down a crack, letting the cool air sweep in through the cab. It smelled of cigarettes and gasoline.

Dean stared out a window as the night blurred by. The radio was on, playing static.

_Dean!_

He sat up straight, almost smacking his head off the glass. The world outside flickered and brightened like an old movie before going back to normal.

"Shit."

Keegan glanced at him. "You need to take a leak or something?"

"She's watching us," Dean growled.

Keegan shrugged and started humming some kind of polka number.

Rolling his eyes, Dean returned his focus to the window. It shattered.

Glass exploded inward, slicing through his skin and imbedding shards in his neck. He cried out and twisted in his seat, into Keegan, there was a sharp BANG, and then something wet sprayed across his face. The cab skidded sideways out of control until it collided with a screech of metal into something solid.

His head spinning, eyes clouded with some kind of liquid, Dean sputtered and tried to collect his bearings. The inside of the car was streaked with globs of blood.

Keegan remained strapped in beside him, the gun still clenched in his fat fingers. "Whoopsie."

Dean reached up and tried to clear the liquid from his eyes. His hands came away sticky. The cab driver's head was a ruin of bone and splattered brain matter.

"I might have—uh—pulled the trigger," Keegan said, looking momentarily sheepish. "On reflex. My bad."

Dean's mouth dropped. "You—"

Something slammed into his door.

Dean jerked and jolted around. A little black swing knocked gently against the door a second time. He looked up. They had come to rest at the base of a massive, dead tree. The limbs twisted up into the dark sky, like damned souls seeking salvation.

"It's her tree," Dean whispered.

"What?" Keegan said.

Dean shook his head and pushed his door open. The bent hinges screamed for a moment and then heaved outward. He stepped out onto the grass. Cold wind swept the swing rhythmically against the car. He reached out a hand to steady the swing. One hand curled around the fraying rope—

_Sunlight. Springtime. Flowers. _

_A girl sat on the swing, clutching a doll, surrounded by men. _

"_Take her back to the vault."_

_One of the men grabbed the girl and roughly jerked her off the swing. He tore the doll out of her hands and tossed it onto the ground. _

_The girl shrieked and jerked wildly in his grip. She clawed at him and bit at his fat fingers. He slapped her, hard, across the face. A red welt blossomed on her cheek. _

"_Daddy!" she shrieked, sobbing, reaching out toward the first man who had spoken, "Daddy! DADDY!"_

The sun went out. Dean stood in the darkness, gripping the rope in a shaking fist.

Keegan cleared his throat behind him. Dean looked back at him.

Keegan's face was bleached white.

The swing shifted slightly under his hand. Dean swallowed hard and glanced down.

Alma stared up at him from the swing, red eyes piercing into his. Her toes dug deep into the grass, dragging her back and forth, back and forth. She didn't say a word.

_Shit…_

Dean flinched and snatched his hand back.

SCCCCRREEEECCCHHHHHH

Dean blinked, hard. The girl wasn't on the swing anymore. The field was empty, _Keegan was gone_—

BEEEEP BEEEEP

"Move it, creep!"

Dean spun around, looking. No one was there.

More beeping.

"Get off the damn road!"

Something grabbed his arm and jerked him hard sideways. Caught off guard, was dragged about four feet before he pushed against the form and knocked it back. He felt a breeze as something big passed by him. A car?

"The shit are you doing?" a man's voice demanded, his voice thick with an accent. "Standing in street? You got a death wish?"

Dean stared at the place the man's voice was coming from. The blackness of the field curled around him like fog. He could still see his mangled cab, crushed against the tree, one headlight still on.

"Hey!" the invisible man shouted, "You a tourist?"

"What?" Dean said guardedly, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"Tourist?" the man demanded again. "You American?"

Dean blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. Sounds of a busy street swirled in his ears. "Yeah," he muttered, "Yeah, American. Uh…" He spun around again, looking. Keegan was still nowhere to be seen. Another invisible car drove past.

"I knew it," he said, "You crazy."

"Who are you?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes hard.

"Me? I'm leaving."

"What? Woah, woah," Dean said quickly, lunging forward blindly. He caught the man's sleeve in his hand and held it tightly. "You can't leave. Not now…I need to…uh…reward you."

"What?"

"For saving my life," Dean continued smoothly, trying to focus on where he imagined the man's face to be. He got out his wallet and, after a moment's thought, handed the whole thing over.

The wallet disappeared the second the other man took it. "Thanks, man," there was a pause. "This real leather?"

Someone jostled Dean's shoulder as a group of invisible people walked past him, heels clicking on pavement. Dean exhaled. "Yeah. Yeah," he said. He looked back in the direction of the tree and flinched.

"What?" the man asked again.

Alma leaved forward on the swing, mouth gaping open, toothless.

"You okay?"

"Can I ask you something?" Dean said shakily.

Something waved in front of his face. "Hey…you blind or something?"

"Yeah, blind, yeah," Dean rambled. "I'm blind," Alma reached up high on the ropes and heaved herself up off the swing in an abrupt motion. Her legs, broken and twisted at the knee, held her at an odd angle. A yellowing bone protruded from her left ankle.

"You look a little sick."

"The Sedlec Ossuary," Dean ground out, "Ever heard of it?"

There was a pause. "You kidding?"

"No," he said. The girl took three quick steps toward him. Blood squelched under her feet.

"You're here," the man said slowly, "This Sedlec Ossuary. You're in cemetery parking lot."

"Where's the chapel?"

"Over there."

Dean cursed under his breath. The little girl made a gasping noise and spat out a torrent of water and blood onto the dying grass. "Lead me there," he said, groping until he caught the man's arm again.

"Look buddy, I'm late for work…"

"I'm blind!" Dean raged, "Lead me there."

"Hell, man," he said, wrenching his arm away. "I'm _late_. Just…just go that way," he pushed him a little towards the right. "It's a straight shot."

Dean cursed under his breath as he heard the man walk away. He turned toward the girl. She was lurching toward him…stretching.

Growing.

She shot upwards like a tree. Skin stretched to accommodate the extra height; bones cracked and created sharp rivets under taunt skin. Black hair sucked back into her scalp and rippled back out a lighter shade of brown. Shoulders broadened, clothes blurred and changed, eyes burned green.

Dean stared, shocked. Someone else jostled his shoulder, another car drove past. He barely heard anything.

The figure lurched toward him, gasping, choking on water that poured from its mouth.

"…_Sam_…?"

He snarled, arms groping wildly toward Dean, teeth bared menacingly. The eyes were wrong.

Wrong.

"Oh god…"

The thing threw back its head and screeched. The sound sliced through the night air and _echoed_. Bloody flecks of spit flew from its mouth.

"Not Sam," Dean choked out, and ran. He bolted blindly in the direction the man had indicated, slamming into people and tripping over graves. People yelled expletives at his back. He kept sprinting, hands reaching ahead blindly.

**Wall**.

Stunned, Dean bounced backward and crashed onto the concrete, smacking his head. "Ugh…"

He blinked. The field blurred and faded.

"…who…he…"

"…ran right into…"

"…nothing. I didn't see…"

Dean raised a shaking hand to his head. "Ugh…"

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Dean opened his eyes.

Sam's decaying face leered down at him, the gums receding back to form a grimace. "Sir?"

Dean shouted and shoved the figure back.

**Please review! **


	18. Blood Bond

**Thanks for the reviews everyone! :) And for those of you who want Sam back…he is **_**kinda **_**in this chapter. You'll see. (Oh, and remember that Genevive Aristide is the president of Armacham Technology Corporation, and she was the one using Alma for tests.) Now on to what happened to Dean...**

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

"Do it now…back in a few hours to…the resu..."

"…bad idea…"

"…didn…ask for your opinio…"

"…too weak now…surgery isn…will kill hi…"

"…on't have time to wait for anyt…"

"…shit…waking up…more anesthes…"

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

_Dean. Can you hear me? _

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

_Come on dude, you have to wake up. You need to get the hell out of here before that woman gets back. They did something to you, I don't know what, messed with your blood._

…_beep…_

…_beep…_

_Damn it Dean, it's _Sam_. Okay? It's me. Wake up for me, will you? _

_Please._

SLAM

"Successful so far, Miss Aristide. He hasn't woken up yet, but he hasn't rejected her blood either. Chances are the link is secure—"

"I don't want _chances_, doctor. I want certainty."

"We won't have that until after he wakes up."

"Then wake him!"

"It's not that simple, her blood screws with people's minds. The last dozen or so people we injected with it died on the spot. Even something as simple as waking him could stop his heart."

"You don't think I know that? It's a miracle we found this guy when we did. We don't have much of her blood left in the vault, doctor. I _need_ this one to work."

"And if it does?"

"We pump him with more of the shit. Strengthen the link between them."

"What's going to happen when Alma finds out this guy has her blood?"

"I don't give a shit. Okay? She's locked inside a vault that _I _created. I can't have her. She's locked Sam away too, so I apparently can't have him either, damn it. This guy is our last link to Sam. He'll have to do. Wake him."

"I can't."

"Fine. I will."

"Don't—"

SPLASH

Dean opened his eyes with a gasp. The cold water sliced across his skin and ran down the cool metal of the table. He sputtered and blinked, confused. He tried to raise a hand up to wipe the water from his eyes but his hand wouldn't move.

"There, see? He's fine," There was a clatter as a cup was tossed away.

Disoriented, Dean tried to sit up. Nothing. He lifted his head and looked down. Wires and tubes crisscrossed every inch of his body, connecting him to blinking machines.

"For God's sake Aristide, you're going to give him a heart attack," the man said angrily, stepping forward.

"Good thing you're here to revive him then, isn't it."

Dean struggled feebly against the bonds, his mind raging. In a fury he glared up at the strange woman who was standing by his side—

Sam was behind her, peering over her shoulder. Their eyes locked.

"_Shit_," Sam cursed, as though Dean had done something to confirm his fears. "_Shit_," He paused, teeth clenched.

He vanished.

The woman swooped down on Dean, eyes glinting. "What?" she demanded.

The doctor put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Don't—"

"Hands off, idiot!" she raged, shaking his arm off. She leaned over Dean, so close that he could smell her musky perfume and a faint trace of whiskey on her breath. "What did you see?" she said quietly.

Dean said nothing.

"What the hell did you see, freak?" she shouted in his ear. "What?"

"Miss," the doctor said slowly, "He just woke up. He can't have seen anything."

"His eyes. Did you see his eyes?" she snapped at him, "He _saw_."

"Saw what?"

Dean locked his lips together.

The woman glowered down at him. "What. Did. You. See."

Dean breathed for a moment, still trying to get his bearings. "Go to hell," he finally said hoarsely.

Her jaw clenched, cheeks flushed. For a moment Dean thought she was going to strike him, but she turned away. "Pump him with more blood. Get rid of his completely and fill him with hers."

The doctor's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"I don't have time to play mind games with this piece of shit. If I can't complete those experiments before the deadline the director's going to have my head."

"He'll _die_."

"We don't know that yet. What we _do _know is that she's over in that tank feasting on that Winchester kid—"

Dean flinched. She saw it.

"Yeah," she said, a smile drifting across her face, "Your little brother. Your _psychic_ little brother. How much agony do you think he's in right now? On a scale from one to ten?"

"What do you know about Sam?" Dean demanded.

"I'm thinking a number more in the billions," she said sweetly, ignoring him, "He's probably begging for death by now. Probably screaming for you—"

"Shut up! Sam's fine. He's _fine_, and you don't know anything!"

She laughed. "Do you know what she's doing to him? Hell, do you even have any clue what the tank _is_?"

Dean seethed, anger pumping through his veins.

She grinned and turned toward the door. "Pump him full of the blood, doctor."

"On your head, Miss."

"Damn right. Oh, and doctor," she said, "Make sure he's awake for it."


	19. Probably Not Dead

**Thanks again for the feedback, guys! :) You're all very encouraging. I felt bad for leaving you in suspense, so I wrote another chapter for you...which may also leave you in suspense. Enjoy!**

The blood was like molten lava.

Dean screamed until he couldn't breathe. Hands clenched the restraints, digging gouges into the cheap material.

The doctor stood above him, arms crossed, watching intensely. His glasses bore a bloody fingerprint smeared at the top of one lens.

The mechanism pumped the blood in and out of his body. It never slowed, never paused. The rhythmical beats clashed with the torrent of pain rushing through him. His body was on _fire_.

"It won't get any better, you know," the doctor said abruptly, breaking the silence. "The burning. It's her blood, it's tainted. Best you can hope for is death."

Dean shook his head, tears still streaming from his eyes.

"Listen tough guy. I've carried out this experiment some 47 times. Everyone screams. Everyone cries. And, eventually, everyone dies. Some last longer than others," he paused and looked at his Rolex, "You've lasted the longest. By ten minutes."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on breathing.

The doctor leaned closer toward him, conspiratorially. "If you _do_ live, you know, you'll just be Aristide's puppet. She'll control you, just like she used Alma. Just like she's using me." He straightened and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "And she wasn't lying, either," The doctor leaned against the sterile counter and checked the mechanism, "Sam's dead."

Dean growled, deep in his throat.

He chuckled. "You can fight the idea all you want, kid. If he's in that tank, with her…he's gone. I would know. I helped built it."

"Not…dead…" he choked out.

"Alright then, believe in fairytales. I can't say as I blame you," he added another pint of blood to the machine. "I'm just going to _you need to get out of here, Dean. Now."_

Dean's eyes snapped up to the doctor's face. "W-what?"

The doctor eyed him questioningly. "I'm adding another pint. We'll see if your body can take it or _her blood is killing you. There's no way you can handle much more of it _take a seat in this chair here, do you?"

His head was throbbing. "What?"

The doctor sank down into a chair, ignoring him. "There. That's better."

Another rush of blood roared through his veins. He screamed.

"I give you five more minutes," the doctor said clinically, "If that. Aristide's a fool for giving you such a high concentration of blood so soon. It's a shame. You're showing promise."

The lights flickered.

Dean screamed again. Black spots swam in his vision, threatening to obscure everything.

"Shame," the doctor said again, "We're so close. I just don't know _hang on Dean, okay? Hang on. I'm going to get you out of there, just hold on for a minute more _listening to me?"

He gasped for air, a fish out of water.

"Are you listening?" the doctor demanded again. He stepped up to him and shined a pinpoint of light in his eye. "Hmm…pupils are dilated. Gaze unfocused…" he switched the light off and looked at him intently for the first time. "What do you see?"

Dean tasted blood in his mouth from where he was biting her lip. Was it his? Was it hers?

The doctor shrugged. "God, I'd give my left arm to be able to see what you're seeing now with her blood inside you."

The lights flickered again.

"Too bad you're just going to die anyw—" he stopped. His eyes remained open, staring at nothing.

Dean coughed. More blood rushed up against his lips, swirled down his throat. He gagged, unable to turn his head to spit it out. The doctor's body convulsed, eyes rolled back. Blood poured slowly out of the corners of the sockets.

He dropped like a stone.

The machine switched off, leaving the room eerily silent. Restraints on Dean's arms evaporated with a puff of smoke, freeing him. Impulsively, he tried to move his arms to throw off all the tubes and needles, but something was pushing down on him, holding him still. He threw back his head and yelled, frustrated, his body still aching.

_Sorry. I'm sorry, damn it I'm so sorry Dean, just stay still._

The needles pulled slowly out of his skin, one by one, and the tubes dropped with a clatter to the floor. Dean shivered violently on the cot, still gasping for air, bleeding. The pressure released him and he bolted upright, regretting it instantly when his head exploded with pain. Something caught him before he could fall and lowered him gently to the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered desperately, looking around.

_Yeah. How do you feel?_

"You're here?"

_Dean! Focus. How do you feel? Any hallucinations, tremors, things like that?_

"Uh…no. No, I'm…ugh…" he held a hand up to his head to stop his vision from spinning.

_What's the blood doing to you?_

"What?"

_Her blood. What does it feel like?_

"Burns," Dean muttered simply, squinting into the empty room. "Where are you?"

_I'm right beside you. _

"Can't see…" Dean cut off, breathing in sharply as another spasm of pain shot through his torso. "Can't see you."

_Uh…really? Maybe…your vision's just off. Anyway, we need to move out before someone checks in here and finds you._

"Why can't I see you, Sam?" Dean said sharply, heart rate rising.

No answer.

"Listen, I'm not moving until you tell me."

_I'll tell you later._

"No. Now," he said flatly, disregarding the pleading tone in his brother's voice. The holes from the needles were oozing heavily onto the tiles, and he used his hands to try to stem a few of them.

_Dean—_

"Now."

_Damn it. There's no time— _

"Sam! You tell me what's fucking wrong with you right now, or I swear I will stay here and bleed to death on the damn floor!"

_That's just stupid!_

"I know! So just tell me already!"

_Fine! Fine, jeez, just…just try to stop bleeding everywhere. _

"I'm waiting."

_I don't know what you want me to say. _

"Something that makes sense."

_Nothing here makes any sense, Dean! Nothing._

"Okay," Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Okay, just tell me something. Anything."

_All I can say is that I… I'm probably not dead. _

"Dead?" Dean blinked, focusing on that one word.

_Probably not, Dean. Probably not. I don't really know much of anything besides that. I don't even know where my body is; probably in the tank with Alma, but I can't remember. _

"You're probably not…you…" the logical side of his brain kicked in and he regained his composure. "How can you be 'probably not' dead? That's as bad as "mostly dead" like the guy in that fire swamp movie or "nearly headless" like that one ghost."

There was a brief pause.

_You watched a princess movie? _

Dean paused, momentarily derailed. "There are pirates in it! And sword fights." He paused, but Sam didn't say anything, "People got killed in it, alright? It's fine."

_And Harry Potter?_

"Uh…there was this brunette chick and she had…well…ah hell I don't have to explain myself to you. You're the one that's _invisible, _you explain yourself to me."

_I can't. Some weird shit is happening, okay? What I do know is that we're wasting time here and if they find you you're the one that's gonna be dead. Now get up. _

Dean felt something (his brother?) tug on his right arm and he hissed in pain. He looked around for something else to use to stop the blood.

Like clothes.

_Wastebasket. Hurry, we need to move._

He found his blood stained jeans and shirt stuffed into the wastebasket and pulled them on as quickly as he could manage. His vision was still spotted, and it took all of his willpower not to fall over. "Still haven't explained how you're here."

_Later. No one's in the hall, go on out._

Dean took a step forward and peered into the hallway.

_Oh no. _

Dean waited for Sam to say something else. He didn't. "Sam?" he said guardedly.

_Don't worry. Don't…don't worry, everything's fine. Just keep…uh…just keep following the corridor here and keep going down the stairs—"_

"Sam?" Dean said again, voice rising.

_I think it'll let you out near the entrance. There should be a lot of people down there, but you should be able to sneak out—_

"Sam!" Dean yelled, frustrated. "What's wrong?"

Silence.

"Sam!"

_She knows._

"Knows? Who knows, Alma knows? What? What does she know?"

_She knows I'm here. _

Dean paused. "That's bad, isn't it?"

_I have to go._

"Hell no! You're not going anywhere."

_I'm sorry, I have to, she…ah shit. Shit. Just get out! Dean—_

The ceiling light flared and exploded into darkness, raining down broken shards of glass.

Dean ducked down and covered his face with his arms. "Sam!" he yelled. His brother didn't respond. Dean swore and straightened back up cautiously, glancing around. The drawers all shot out, scattering surgical tools all over the floor. The cot jolted to the left and crashed into the wall with a bang. The window exploded inward. Lurching to his feet, Dean stumbled out into the hallway. The lights were seizing, casting shadows everywhere.


	20. Drowning

**Here's the next installment, and—surprise—Dean is in trouble again. **

The walls of the hallway started pulsating in and out, groaning under the strain. Paint peeled in chunks and fell upward toward the ceiling and evaporated. As he stood spellbound, a hole on the wall expanded; chunks of plaster hurled outward with a cloud of dust.

The walls pulsed outward again, and a jet of blood spewed from the hole, hitting him in the chest. He recoiled, stumbling back into a wall only to jump away from it when it moved violently against his back. A decaying arm thrust itself out of the gaping hole, reaching—

Dean bolted; his bare feet thudded hard against the tiles. Ceiling lights exploded and rained glass on him as he ran underneath them. Doors flew open and slammed against the walls. Carts slid across the floor into his path.

He made it to the stairwell and started down the steps. All light extinguished when the door slammed behind him. He kept his hand on the railing so he wouldn't slip on all the blood running down his body. He took another step down and splashed ankle deep into freezing water.

He pulled his foot back up onto the previous step and hesitated there, gasping for breath and clinging to the railing. The railing moved under his hand, coiling around his wrist like a livid snake, and he automatically relinquished his hold. Off-balance, he tumbled headfirst down the staircase—

Dean plunged into the water.

His mouth opened in an involuntary scream as the icy water cut through him and filled his throat. He turned and kicked off the bottom, reaching his hands up toward the surface.

They smacked a pane of glass. Heart rate rising, Dean slammed his fists against the glass again and again, trying to break through. He peered upward through the pane, desperately trying to think of a way out, and the back of his oxygen deprived mind recognized that Alma was kneeling on the glass above him, glaring down with eyes aflame.

Yellow spots obstructed his vision and danced across his line of sight. His hearing faded to a dim whoosh of liquid under his hands. He slammed his fists once more against the glass, scraping his knuckles deeply and breaking fingernails. Blood flowed from his wounds, clouding the water.

The glass cracked.

She leapt up; eyes widened, then narrowed in fury. She screamed.

Unable to think of anything but survival, Dean pounded the glass again; this time his fist broke the surface and he reached both hands up through the hole to make it bigger, gouging his hands and wrists in the process. Blood poured over the glass, and seemed to melt the material on contact. The dislodged shards of glass sank to the bottom of the pool. He raised his head and shoulders through the hole and gasped air into his lungs.

After a few long seconds he peeked up at Alma; she was watching him in disbelief. He didn't care.

Dean spat out a few mouthfuls of water and heaved himself up out of the water with shaking arms. He fell to his knees on the glass, coughing.

Alma screeched, furious. He looked up at her, tiredly, and felt his gaze fall instead on something behind her. A shadow hovered near the floor, a dark mist that was bent over and oddly familiar.

"Sam?"

Alma and the shadow disappeared with a flash.

The lights flickered back on. Glass turned back to tiled flooring, water dried up, paint chips flew back down to cover the walls. Upstairs, nurses chattered in the hallway.

Dean held his gouged arms against his soiled shirt; blood—his? Alma's?— flowed freely from the severed veins. He stood up slowly, using only his legs. His waterlogged jeans seemed enough to pull him back down, but he remained standing. "Sam?" he whispered weakly.

No answer. _Of course._ Dean thought, taking a wobbly step in the wrong direction. _I've lost him again. Like socks in a drier or that stupid underwater city or all that treasure in that Nicholas Cage movie… uh…_

His train of thought hit a wall, curled up into the air and spun. He gave up on thinking.

Dean stumbled upon the stairs and descended a few while gripping the rail, slicking it with blood as he moved. Instead of stopping, the blood from his wrists soaked into his shirt and dripped onto the floor. With dim interest he realized that, while his vision was back to normal, everything the blood touched was changing. The rail was sizzling, glowing with an iridescent light. Dime sized holes burned through the floor where it landed. His shirt was disintegrating.

Wearily he stumbled through the last few steps and reached the bottom. There was a door in front of him. Well, it made sense for there to be one door. It currently looked like three doors. Three blurring, stretching doors, each about a football field away from where he stood.

Dean's knees collapsed and he fell forward, unable to even feel the pain of the fall. He breathed out shallowly, vaguely aware that he was dying. The bloody ground felt warm and comfortable.

Clicking heels clattered against the floor beside him, interrupting the stillness. He didn't have enough energy to raise his head. Someone shouted something, frantic. The words all blurred together.

He blacked out.

**Yeah, it's a short chapter. The next one will be longer, I promise, I already have it written. And Sam will be there. I just wrote it while waiting FOREVER at the technology building to get my computer updated for graduation. Lovely. Anyway, leave a review. **


	21. Dream is Collapsing

**On to the next chapter...and Sam! Sam's here this time. And he has numerous lines, too! And Dean doesn't get beat up! So many exclamation marks! ! ! Haha. :) Thanks for reading, and enjoy. I hope this chapter clears up any lingering plot questions you may have. **

Dean drifted while underwater voices gargled around him. Something was beeping amidst the voices, disturbing him like an audio version of Chinese water torture. He couldn't move, and he didn't care to. He let himself sink deeper, underneath the voices. He dreamed.

In his dream, he was sitting on a rocky precipice above a waterfall. He let his legs dangle into the cool liquid, staring down the drop. It was a long drop; the water at the base smashed against the rocks and flung up into a mist.

"Dean."

Dean pursed his lips and looked up at his brother. "You."

"Me," Sam sighed, sitting down beside him.

Dean fell silent for a moment. "I'm dead?"

"Not yet, no."

"Oh. Okay."

Sam shifted beside him.

"Where are we?" Dean asked.

"I think we're in my head."

"So this is your dream?"

"I suppose."

"Not a very interesting dream," Dean said with a halfhearted smirk.

"I'm sorry, would you rather we were being attacked? I'm sure I could conjure up a Wendigo or something simple like ferocious grizzly bears."

"No, I'm good," he said, running his hand through the water. Minnows swarmed away from his skin. "Remind me, how exactly did we get into this mess?"

Sam shrugged. "Something about an old woman."

"Oh yeah, right," he said, "From now on, we avoid the elderly like a plague."

"Of locusts?"

"Nah, more like they're carrying the black death. Like they're waiting to demolish all living souls and feast on the flesh of babies."

Sam smirked. "Old women?"

"Yeah. And creepy little girls with black hair."

"Right," Sam said, and sighed. "They gave you Alma's blood."

"I know. It melts things. Pretty cool, actually."

"They're going to make you control the army of Replica Soldiers."

"So...not pretty cool?"

"No, they'll destroy the world."

"Ah. That again."

"Guess this makes you Alma's replacement."

"I thought you were Alma's replacement. Since you've got the shining and all."

"Yeah…well…I'm currently indisposed."

"But still probably not dead, right?" Dean said, a little more desperately than he would have liked.

"Maybe."

Dean ignored his brother's vague response. "Okay. Things aren't so bad. I just have to break out of the hospital, which is swarming with the Men in Black and those Mr. Smith guys wearing their identical sunglasses, locate the Ossuary, get inside the Ossuary, avoid getting brutally murdered by Alma, find you, wherever the hell you are, while you're still _probably not_ dead, escape from the Ossuary without being melted, miraculously avoid the government again and escape from the country, and then fall off the grid and become Mexican drug lords so no one can ever find us again. Is that everything?"

"Yep, that's it. Exactly. "

"Oh good. I was worried it might be complicated or something," Dean said, running a hand tiredly over his face. "So why isn't Alma here, anyway?"

"Probably because you're here and she hates you."

"Ha, you're hilarious."

"I think you freaked her out when you used her own blood against her."

"So she's going to leave me alone now, then?"

"Probably not indefinitely. Sorry."

Dean stared down into the raging water. "Do I have to go back? I'd rather just stay here. It's nice here."

"I'm sure someone is going to wake you up soon."

"Damn."

"But it was a good idea." Sam said softly.

Dean shook his head and stood up. The sun was setting now, spreading deep reds and gold above the tree line. "How long?"

"Until I'm probably dead?" Sam said, reading the expression on his brother's face.

"Yeah."

Sam frowned, trying to formulate the best response.

"That soon, huh?" he said, jaw tightening.

"Yeah," Sam said, deciding there was no point in sugarcoating it. "Pretty imminent, actually. She's...draining me. Of powers, naturally, but also of thoughts and memories and...stuff."

"She's taking your memories?"

Sam grimaced. "I...think. It's hard to explain. That's just what it feels like."

"Why the hell would she do that?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean pushed the concept to the back of his mind to ponder later. "And how do you feel?" he asked seriously, staring down at his brother.

"Drained," Sam said in a soft exhale. "Look man, I'm fighting her, but it's hard."

Dean swore and kicked a loose rock over the falls. "Okay. It's okay. Just...resist her for a little while longer, Sammy, okay? A little bit more, and then I'll figure something out or you'll figure something out. We always do."

Sam nodded.

Dean spoke again, but no words came out. He frowned.

Sam squinted up at him. "You're fading," he said, and to prove the point he waved his right arm through Dean's leg, "Waking up."

He gritted his teeth and tried to fight it. _No_. He mouthed, willing himself to just stay with Sam.

"It's okay," Sam said, but his voice was faded and ghostly, "I'll be fine. Probably. Just...don't get killed."

Dean tried to cling to the dream, but it slipped away in the frustrating way that pleasant dreams do. Black spots swirled and covered the images of Sam and the sky and the waterfall. He reached out blindly. For a moment, he thought he could feel Sam's hand grasp his own-

Pain.

He let out a shuddering breath, clenching his fingers around cotton sheets. The world smelled of rubbing alcohol and, oddly, fresh paint. A stupid heart monitor cheerfully beeped away beside him, announcing that yes, he was still alive. Damn it.

Dean cracked open one eye. It was dark aside from one bedside lamp and the red glow of an exit sign above the door.

Halfheartedly, he tried to lift an arm up and was completely unsurprised to find that he was strapped down for the second time today. He settled back in the sheets and tried to get comfortable.


	22. Memory Wipe

**Alright. I know it's been awhile, and I apologize. Some of you were pretty confused by the story, and I don't like to confuse readers because you're all so wonderful, so I've made a list of points which I hope will clear up some concerns. **

**1. PERSPECTIVE: The story pings from dream world to reality to visions at the drop of a hat. Alma can manipulate reality, so the thin line between what's real and what isn't exists because of her. Thus, there will be times where you may not know for sure if the Winchesters are dreaming, awake, or a combination of the two. **

**2. INTEL: Dean and Sam are often confused by the blurring of reality, and they're being manipulated by the people around them. You, as the reader, don't know any more than Sam and Dean, thus you are going to be a bit confused by things until the Winchesters figure more out. Don't worry, you're in good company. **

**3. PLOT: Alma was chosen to control the ****Replica Soldiers****. Replica Soldiers are '****super soldiers' who are basically programed to operate under psychic control. Think of them as a bunch of robots that have military programming and sit around collecting dust until they are psychically controlled into action. Alma has telekinetic powers, and she was supposed to be able to control them because of that. Sam also could be able to operate them. Dean, since he has Alma's blood now, has a shot at this as well. **

**4. CHARACTER: Genevieve Aristide is the woman that found Dean outside the Ossuary and took him to the hospital. She's the nutcase in charge of Project Origin, which involves both Alma and the Replica Soldiers. She wants the Replica Soldiers up and running, and she'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.**

**Okay, I hope that clears up some things. Again, I'm sorry if you're confused but Alma blurs reality so it's going to be confusing **_**on purpose. **_**If you have any other questions about the plot, let me know and I'll be happy to clear them up for you. :) Some of you want more Sam in this story, so I'm going to try to put more in from Sam's POV. Remember, this is difficult since Sam is in the tank with Alma. It's a holding cell; not exactly a happy, brightly lit area, and being trapped with Alma is just going to blur reality even **_**more. **_**But I'm going to try for you guys. **

Alma was angry.

No, Sam amended, that was the understatement of the century. Alma wasn't angry. Alma was out of her mind furious, and the deep growling sounds she was projecting into his ear didn't bode well for him.

The darkness pushed at him from all sides, and he shuddered. He was back in the tank; blind again, and unable to move.

He was back in the tank with _her. _

Sam tried to cringe back as he felt tendrils of hair brush across his forehead. He couldn't; she was holding him in place, forcing him to lie still on the floor. His eyes were open and dried out. He couldn't remember the last time he had blinked, or drawn a breath. Only his heart remained beating, deep inside his chest. Sam could hear it pound through the silence of the chamber.

He was helpless as she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. "Big brother…" she wined, "Don't you love me?"

Even _if _Sam had been able to respond, he wasn't sure what he would have said that might have fixed what he had just done. He had saved Dean; he had deliberately worked against her and stopped her from killing his brother. He wasn't sorry—_at all_—but he knew it wasn't going to win him any points with his telekinetic captor.

"You _will_ love me, big brother," Alma hissed in his ear, raking her fingernails down his face. "You're like me. Father said so. You _have_ to love me."

Sam wished for Dean; he wished that he would come waltzing through the door—wherever the hell it was—and do…what? Punch Alma in the face? Zap her with a Proton Gun and suck her into one of the Ghostbusters traps? What did you do with someone like her, someone who wasn't necessarily even _dead_?

"No more Dean," Alma said, latching her fingers onto his temples, "You're not to remember him anymore."

Sam felt panic rise up inside of him. _What? What did that mean?_ His head exploded in pain, and he found himself unable even to scream.

"Sssshhh…" Alma whispered, holding on tighter, "This will only take a minute…then you won't remember him. Only me. We'll get revenge on them. They'll pay for what they did to me."

Sam's mind felt like it was on fire; tears poured down his cheeks. He felt thoughts slip from his mind like sand: how he had just saved Dean from Alma, finding this case, fighting with Dean, playing jokes on his brother—

Dean—

Dean—

Dean—

_NO!_

**SNSNSN**

A small plastic clock was mounted on the wall above the door. Dean glared at the clock, watched as it ticked away hours of his life—hours he could have spent saving Sam.

He had long ago stopped struggling against his bindings. It was hopeless; the bastards had him in a straightjacket after all, and had bound him with leather belts to the table. He couldn't move, let alone escape. His head still pounded from his earlier fight with Alma, and his entire body was tingling, an ever present reminder that her blood was wreaking havoc with his system.

And so, unable to move or get away, he waited. And waited. And _waited._

Five hours after he had woken, the door opened. Genevieve Aristide clicked her way inside the room on her red, three inch high Prada heels. She smiled. "Morning—"

"Where's my brother, you bitch?" Dean shot back, trying to arch his neck so he could glare at her properly. "Where is he?"

Her bubblegum lips pouted as she checked something off her clipboard. "Now Dean, I already told you. He's _dead._"

"Stop saying that!" Dean boomed, struggling anew against the restraints.

She leaned over him, so close that he could smell her musky perfume. "He's _dead_."

Dean spat in her face.

She gritted her teeth and delicately wiped the spit from her cheek. She took a step back. "Was that necessary?"

"How do you know?" Dean demanded, "How do you know he's dead?"

"He's with Alma," she said expressively, as though that explained everything.

"He said Alma _liked _him."

She laughed. "Of course she does. But she'll still kill him. She's a monster," she said, and fell gracefully into the plastic chair beside him.

Dean leaned back against the table, exhausted. "I'm not helping you," he said, "Whatever sick thing you have planned, whatever you want me to do, I'm not doing it."

Her lips twisted. She looked down and picked at her skirt. "Well, that's a real shame," she said slowly, "Because if you work with me, I was going to help you find Sam. I mean…he's with Alma, after all. She's the one we want."

Dean faltered. "You said he was dead."

"Well, yeah," she said, smoothing her skirt back down, "But you'd still _find _him. Dead or alive, I mean. If you help us capture Alma."

"Sam said…" Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered, "He said _you _were the one to watch out for. He said you were evil, that I should stay away from you."

"Dean," she said gently, "You were _hallucinating_. Sam's with Alma, he wasn't in the hospital. That would be silly."

"Not in my line of work," Dean insisted. "Besides, I'd trust Sam—hallucination or not—over you any day of the week."

Her expression darkened. "Fine," she said, standing up, "Fine. Let Sam die with her, if you want; I don't care."

Dean clenched his jaw shut as she walked to the door.

Right before she left, she paused and half turned to him. "I'll be back in half an hour," she said, "Agree to help us—and find Sam—or rot in here. If he's still alive, like _you_ think he is, I don't think you can help him much if you're trapped in here as a lab rat for the rest of your pathetic life."

Dean watched the door close behind her.

**Leave a review please! Thoughts-Good things? Bad things? Should it continue?-are welcome. Thanks for reading. **


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